


Whatever It Takes

by im_fairly_witty



Series: Villain AU [1]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Broken Bones, Broken Promises, F/M, a heck ton of villainous rationalizing, evil Hector, mental trauma, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-04-13 22:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 55,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14122431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_fairly_witty/pseuds/im_fairly_witty
Summary: What if Héctor Rivera was the antagonist instead of Ernesto De la Cruz? A Reverse!Coco story, villain!au.





	1. Chapter 1

“And of course I get so many offerings from my amazing fans in the Land of the Living.” Papá Héctor said, leading Miguel across the grand ballroom of the Rivera mansion. “They leave me more offerings than I know what to do with, but we’re blessed to have so much to give away to those in need every Dia de los Muertos.”

“Is that what the Sunrise Spectacular is for? To give away all your extra offerings?” Miguel asked, looking up at his great-great-grandfather walking beside him in his pristine white and gold charro suit.

“No, the Spectacular’s all about ticket sales.” Héctor said, smiling down at him, “Biggest charity event in the whole land of the dead! We pull in enough money every year to take care of everyone who doesn’t have offerings from families of their own. There used to be awful slums in the Land of the Dead, these horribly broken-down shantytowns were the nearly forgotten lived, but not anymore. It’s one of the proudest achievements of the Rivera family.”

They approached a large bay window and Miguel looked out over the breathtaking view below, the distant buildings all periwinkles and lilacs, sprinkled all over with festive lights. A starry night sky of another realm.

The whole night had felt surreal, accidentally traveling to the land of the dead, finally meeting the great-great-grandfather he had idolized his entire life, getting to actually know him in a way he’d only dreamed of. All so strange, but absolutely amazing.

“What’s wrong?” Papá Héctor asked, gently ruffling Miguel’s hair. “Is it too much? You look overwhelmed.”

“No, it’s all great.” Miguel said, leaning against his grandfather as they looked out the window together. “It’s just, I’ve been looking up to you my whole life, you’re the guy that actually did it! But…wasn’t it hard to leave your family behind to be so famous? Abuelita Elena gets mad at me when I say I’m going to leave to be a famous musician. How did you do it? ”

Héctor chuckled, playfully pushing Miguel’s shoulder. “Ayy, what’s the number-one family rule? Tell me Elena hasn’t forgotten her abuelito’s motto already.”

“Family always comes first.” Miguel said, smiling and rolling his eyes as he recited the worn-out phrase that had been drilled into him his whole childhood.

“That’s right.” Héctor said proudly, “I didn’t get famous because I left my family behind, chamaco. I succeeded because I was willing to do whatever it took to put my family first.”

Héctor turned away as a shimmering display of fireworks started outside, leading the way over to the staircase that descended to the ballroom with the pool the party earlier that night had been in. Miguel tore his gaze away from the fantastic display outside and followed after Héctor.

Héctor’s bony hand rested on Dante’s head as he walked, the softly glowing Xolo dog trotting obediently beside him. Miguel had never seen the dog as composed as he was beside Héctor, the animal’s usual goofiness turned to a more serious and watchful attitude instead. Probably because Dante had been Héctor’s spirit-guide all along, it had been Dante that had led Miguel to Héctor in the first place.

“I did have to tour on my own for a while when I first started out,” Héctor said,“but your Mama Imelda and Coco came to live with me the moment I’d earned enough money for us.”

Héctor pausing briefly for Miguel to catch up before continuing on again, descending the staircase to the dimly lit pool area together. “Hard work is only worth it if it helps your family Miguel, practice and timing and luck, none of it matters if you leave behind family. I would be nothing without Imelda, she is my life, and my afterlife. I’m so excited for you to meet her, she’s been with Frida Kahlo all day setting up the last touches of the Spectacular, but I know she’ll be thrilled to meet you. Well, a little stern, but still happy.”

“Actually…” Miguel said, pausing at the foot of the stairs. He pulled up his shirt, feeling ill as he looked down to see his own pelvis through his translucent skin. “I really have to get home before sunrise.”

“Whoa, why didn’t you say something earlier?” Héctor grimaced, bending down for a closer look. “You know, I think you’re right. The rest of the family will be sorry they missed you, but we gotta get you back to Coco and your parents. Can’t have you crossing over too soon eh?”

“No gracias.” Miguel laughed, pulling his shirt back down.

“Well, here we go,” Héctor said, plucking a marigold petal from a nearby vase and getting down on one knee, eye-level with Miguel. “It’s been a real treat, chamaco. I hope you live a long life, but I’m already looking forward to seeing you again. You’ll make a fine musician, just remember to always put your family first and everything will work out.”

“Sí, muchas gracias, for everything.” Miguel was surprised to find himself fighting back tears as Héctor pulled him into a hug. The sensation of Héctor’s bones beneath his charro jacket was still a little strange, but still somehow just as warm as when he hugged his own Papá.

Héctor pulled back and held up the marigold petal between them, smiling. “Miguel, I give you my bles-”

“We had a deal, kid!”

Miguel jumped, startled as a familiar voice echoed through the huge room. He looked up to see a broad-shouldered skeleton advancing angrily from the shadows.

“Hello?” Héctor called. He got to his feet, pulling Miguel towards him as he eyed the intruder warily. “Can I help you?”

“Help me?  _You_ , help me? I thought you’d never ask,  _amigo_.” Snarled Ernesto De la Cruz, coming forward into the dim purple light. His old ragged blush charro jacket hung loosely on his yellowed and faded bones as he strode angrily towards them.

“Ernesto.” Héctor’s eyes widening, then snapped into a cold glare that sent a chill down Miguel’s spine. “I warned you never to set foot on my property again.”

“Miguel and I had a deal, Héctor.” Ernesto barked. “I said I’d get him to you, and then he’d take my photo back to the land of the living. This is my last shot at being remembered, you owe me at least that much after what you did to me.”

“Miguel, is he telling the truth?” Héctor asked, his glare letting up just long enough to look back at him.

“S-sí Papá Héctor,” Miguel said uncertainly, looking between the two men. “Ernesto said he knew you, that you two used to play together?”

Miguel hunched his shoulders, scooting closer against Héctor as Ernesto got closer. “But I didn’t believe him. He said you were awful, so I ran away from him and Dante got me here instead. He, he said that it’s was your fault that he’s being forgotten?”

“Did he now?” Héctor said grimly.

Héctor squared his shoulders, stepping forward in front of Miguel as Ernesto approached, making the shorter man hesitate, stopping his advance several feet away from them.

Miguel heard growling and looked over to see Dante at Hector’s side, his glowing ears pinned back and his small wings spread.

“You told everyone I ran off,” Ernesto spat, but he kept his distance, eying Dante, “my family thought I’d disappeared forever, they forgot about me Héctor, they wrote me off.”

“You committed suicide Ernesto, I was trying to preserve some scrap of your honor.” Héctor said coldly, sounding very much like they’d had this conversation before, “You’ve threatened my family too many times to be welcome here. You need to leave. Now.”

“It wasn’t suicide, it was food poisoning and you know it!” Ernesto seethed, “I only have hours left before I fade away Héctor, no one in the land of the living remembers me anymore and it’s all your fault. If you were actually the charitable man you pretend to be, you wouldn’t have lied about my death, you wouldn’t have shunned me all these years while I’ve had to scrape by. If you’re actually a good man you’ll let Miguel take my picture back to the Land of the Living.”  

“I could still take his picture back.” Miguel said hesitantly. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“He doesn’t deserve your kindness Miguel,” Héctor said, not taking his eyes off Ernesto, “This rat tried to take everything from me, from our family.”

“I…what?” Ernesto spluttered, taking a step back.

“Formaldehyde.” Héctor said softly, taking a step forward.

Miguel didn’t know why, but Ernesto looked like he’d just been slapped.

“I, I don’t know-” Ernesto said, taking another step back.

“In my glass.” Héctor hissed, “Poison, Ernesto, you were going to poison me. And for what? My songs? My songbook?”

“I would never-” Ernesto said, pulling nervously at his jacket collar.

“I saw you lace the shot glass Ernesto, you thought I was asleep, but I saw you drip it into the glass to let it dry. Was it going to be a farewell toast? Were you planning on playing the friend right up until I collapsed on the way to the train station? Was that your plan?”

Héctor’s voice was rising, matched by Dante’s feral snarling.

“I just wanted to go home!” Héctor shouted, “I just wanted was to go home, and you were going to take everything away from me!”

“I wasn’t going to do it!” Ernesto said, skeletal hands shaking. “It, it was a dark time for me Héctor, you were going to take everything we’d worked so hard for and throw it all away. I wasn’t thinking straight, but I swear I wasn’t going to go through with it. We were hermanos!”

“Is that what you’ve told yourself all these years?” Héctor said, his voice suddenly flat, a look of disgust on his face. “You always were good at putting on a show Ernesto, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you got caught up in your own lies.”

“Well, if you weren’t so focused on Imelda and-” Ernesto started, but Héctor cut him off with a shrill two-fingered whistle.

Miguel cowered as a bellowing roar shook the massive stone room, the very stone beneath his feet vibrating, the pool water beside them shivering and rippling at the noise. A blast of air buffeted Miguel as something enormous and glowing a sickly green slammed to the marble floor only meters away from them.

“Don’t you _ever_ speak of my wife.” Héctor said, stepping forward to tower over where Ernesto had fallen down in shock.

Héctor had to speak loudly to be heard over the growling of the massive winged jaguar that prowled up behind him, the alebrije’s thundering snarl sounding more like the revving of a powerful motor than any noise a normal cat could possibly make.

“Don’t you ever speak her name.”

“Please, Héctor, I just don’t want to die again, I didn’t do anything!” Ernesto choked, “I never even had the chance to kill you, I died before I could…before…”

Miguel felt absolutely sick as Ernesto trailed off, staring up at Héctor as the truth clicked into place for all of them.

No. This was wrong, this was all wrong.

“You poisoned him first.” Miguel said, the words slipping out before he could call them back. “You killed him before he could kill you.”

Héctor looked back at Miguel, the green glow of the jaguar and the nearby pool reflecting eerily off his skull.

“Family  _always_  comes first Miguel.” Héctor said evenly, “You have to do whatever it takes.”

“I knew it!” Ernesto cried with a strange, dizzy laugh, even as he continued to cower. “I knew you were a fraud! Up here is your fancy mansion, doing all your flashy charity work, setting up your familia as some kind of saviors. You’re the one that’s rotten inside, you’re a fake! You’re a murderer, and I bet your own wife doesn’t even know, does she?”

Miguel braced himself for more shouting, but instead Héctor just chuckled, pushing his grey-streaked hair back out of his face as he shook his head.

“You really don’t know us at all, do you Ernesto?” he said, flashing his gold tooth in a wide smile. “Imelda was the one that suggested your death in the first place. I never would have had to guts to do it in my own.” he stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking down at Ernesto like he was a stain on the floor. “Pepita? Take care of him, will you?”

The massive winged jaguar sprang on Ernesto, snapping him up in her jaws and launching into the air with a powerful sweep of her wings, flying up and out a huge window far above them, disappearing into the night sky beyond before Miguel even had the chance to so much as scream.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Miguel.” Héctor said, making Miguel jump as he turned to face him.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Miguel asked, trembling in shock, unconsciously taking a step back as Héctor approached.

“Whoa, hey, it’s all right.” Héctor said, his warm smile coming back as he put his hands up.

But now the genuine warmth looked all wrong on Héctor, not after seeing what he was really capable of.

“Pepita’s just taking him somewhere he’ll be safe.” Hector said, “He’s going to fade soon, it happens to everyone eventually, but he’s going to be far away from anyone he could hurt.”

Miguel flinched as Héctor put his hands on his shoulders, getting down on one knee to be at eye level with him. “Miguel, I know this must be confusing for you, but this is the kind of thing that we have to do to sometimes to protect our family. Riveras look out for Riveras first.”

“But you killed him.” Miguel said. His breathing was getting too fast and shallow as it all really started to hit him. “You killed him, and now he’s going to die again, and  _you killed him_.”

“Hey, hey, Miguel, please, breathe.” Héctor said, looking genuinely worried as hot tears started to roll down Miguel’s cheeks.

“You can’t kill people, it’s, you just can’t!” Miguel cried, “We could help him, we could still put his photo up, you don’t have to forgive him, but that doesn’t mean he should be forgotten! Do the police know you killed him? Does my family know? Have you killed other people?”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Hector reached out to wipe away Miguel’s tears with a bony thumb. “Miguel, you need to calm down. I can’t send you home if you’re like this, you need to calm down.”

“I have to go home!” Miguel said, pulling away. “You’re a liar! You killed your best friend, you’re killing him right now!”

“Miguel.” Héctor said, voice stern. “I need to know we can trust you before I send you back, I need to know you can keep this all a secret for the sake of our family.”

Miguel stared at Héctor wide-eyed. “What are you going to do to me?” He glanced up at the window where the jaguar had carried off Ernesto.

Hector followed his gaze and grimaced, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that mijo, I would never let anything hurt you.”

“Then let me go home.” Miguel picked up a loose petal from the floor and held it out to Héctor, trying to wipe away his own tears with his sleeve. “I don’t want to be here anymore, I don’t want to be with you anymore, I don’t want to meet Mama Imelda. I want to go back to my family.”

“Miguel,” Héctor sounded wounded as he sat cross-legged on the floor, as if doing everything he could to look as unthreatening as possible. “We are your family, we love you, but we love all of your tíos and tias and primos very much too. We worked very hard to leave you all a very comfortable life, if you told anyone about what you’ve learned tonight all of that could disappear, that would be bad for everyone.”

“They deserve to know.” Miguel said, feeling his courage come back a little to see Héctor so, well, not evil-looking. “And Ernesto deserved to have his picture put up, we’ll be okay Papá Héctor, really.”

“Miguel, we don’t have time to argue about this,”  Héctor tapped Miguel’s skeletal hand with his own. “I need you to listen very carefully because I’m going to tell you exactly what your choices are, alright chamaco?

“Your first option is that you forget all about Ernesto, he’s getting exactly what he deserves and he’ll never be able to hurt this family again. You swear to me that you will keep his real death a secret for the rest of your life, and then your afterlife when we meet up again. If you promise me that, if I can trust you to protect this family, then I’ll give you my blessing right now and you’ll be able to go live out the rest of your life.”

Miguel looked at the petal Héctor was holding. He knew Héctor could put any conditions he wanted on his blessing. If he agreed to keep the terrible secret of Ernesto’s death, he really would have to keep his promise or be spirited right back.

Miguel tried to get his breathing under control as he stared at the petal. It would be so easy to agree, to go back home and try to forget everything.

To do it for the sake of the family.

Miguel looked at the petal in his own hand.

“And what’s the other option?” He asked.

“Your second option is that you stay here with us.” Héctor said, a pained look on his face. “If you can’t keep this a secret then I’m afraid we’re going to have to keep a close eye on you until you can. I would  _much_  rather welcome you home when you’ve already lived your life, but you would still be here with your family and we would take the very best care of you. It would be a difficult transition, but you would understand when you’re older.”

Miguel pulled his petal close to his chest, shivering.

Death.

At twelve years old.

That’s what Héctor was talking about. That’s what it would mean if he stayed, he would be trapped at this age forever. He would never finish school, never travel the world, never get married or get old or any of that adult stuff. He hadn’t even hit his growth spurt yet, meaning he would be a small skeleton forever, living in a mansion in the land of the dead, probably always watched over by his great-great-grandparents until either he or they finally faded away in the second death, who knew how many years from now.

Would he become just like Papá Héctor if he stayed here with him?

That used to be his dream.

“Can I think about it?” Miguel asked, trying his very best to look calm and mature, but his heart was racing.

“You don’t have much time.” Héctor said, looking worried, “I’m starting to see your neck vertebrae. I don’t know how this works, but you don’t have long, mijo.”

“I just, I just need some space, I need some air?” Miguel said, hating the way his voice cracked.

“Of course, of course.” Héctor said, standing and gesturing back up the stairs to where they’d been looking out the bay window. “You can think out on the balcony if you like, but please be quick. If you wait too long your choice will be made for you.”

“Gracias.” Miguel said, walking towards the balcony at a measured pace, his mind spinning.

He would only have one chance and he had to get it right.

Halfway to the staircase Miguel passed an open doorway. The moment he reached it, he turned and took off down the stone hallway at top speed.

“Miguel!” Héctor called.

But Miguel was flying as fast as he could, tearing down the hallway, nearly falling as he scrambled down a flight of stairs, his heart pounding in his ears as he forced himself to run faster than he had ever run before.

If he could get out he could find the police again, he could tell them everything. They would get to Ernesto in time, he could find someone else he was related to for a blessing. He could have a third option, things could still work out!

Miguel saw a blur of color whip past him and he stumbled to a halt as Dante skidded to a stop in front of him, getting between him and what looked like an exit door.

“Dante, you gotta let me out,” Miguel pleaded frantically, nearly crying to see his old friend with his ears pinned back at him. “you can come with me!”

Dante growled, but it was mixed with a whine, the dog’s head dipping a little, as if confused.

“Please boy, if I stay I’m going to die! You have to let me through!”

Dante didn’t budge, but his tail tucked between his legs, his glowing wings folded tightly against his body. The spirit guide whined softly, as if feeling torn.

Miguel tried to take a step forward, but Dante’s guard-dog growl came back, teeth bared again. Maybe he had pushed too soon, forcing Dante into making a decision.

Miguel jumped as a bony hand gripped his arm.

“Why are you choosing this?” Héctor said sadly, starting to tow Miguel back towards the stairs. “Why does it have to be this way?”

“Let me go! I don’t want to die!” Miguel screamed, trying to hit and kick, but Héctor caught his wrists and pinned them painfully behind his back with one hand, using the other to steer Miguel down a long stone hallway, away from the door.

“I know you’re going to hate me for a long time, I am so sorry Miguel,” Héctor said. Miguel continued to struggle as they walked further down the hall. “But I swear on my own grave that we’ll make it up to you. When this blows over you’ll have everything you ever wanted, performances, a new guitar, whatever you want. I’ll take you to meet the rest of the family, they’ll all be so happy to see you after visiting every year and watching you grow up.”

“You don’t care about me! You’re only thinking about yourself! Let me go!!” Miguel cried, trying and failing to yank away.

“You’ll understand someday, chamaco.” Héctor said, pushing Miguel through an open door and into a fully furnished bedroom.

Miguel turned and lunged back for the door, but Héctor slammed it shut, the sound of a lock clicking immediately after.

Gasping for breath, Miguel spun, looking around the plush room for a window, a vent, anything that could help him escape. But there was nothing.

He caught sight of himself in an ornate full-length mirror and a new wave of tears ran down his face when he saw his own cheekbones, the actual bones, reflected back at him.

“Please!” he sobbed, “Don’t leave me here!” he yanking uselessly at the doorknob before collapsing against the door, sliding down to the floor.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Héctor’s voice said from the other side of the door, quiet and thick with tears. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

“Please.” Miguel choked, curling up miserably against the door, shoulders shaking as dry-heaving sobs racked his body, everything inside him was starting to feel wrong, like his insides were fragile or fading.

“I’m so sorry, mijo.” Héctor said. “I didn’t want it to be this way.”

There was a long moment of near-silence, broken only by the quietly helpless crying on both sides of the locked door.

As Miguel’s vision started to fade he could hear a shakily hummed tune from the other side of the door. It sounded familiar, but softer than he’d ever heard it sung before, like a lullaby.

An icy-hot sensation gripped Miguel, making him involuntarily cry out in pain as it shivered across his entire body.

It was as the arm tucked under him slipped into the now empty space under his rib cage, as his shoes suddenly felt too loose on his feet, as the raw physical pain of crying snuffed out entirely, that some small still-coherent part of his reeling brain realized what song it was that Héctor was humming for him.

Miguel was listening to  _Remember Me_  when he felt his heart stop beating.

He was listening to  _Remember Me_ when he died.


	2. The Same Shot Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to the day after Héctor realizes that Ernesto is planning to kill him. 
> 
> He needs to talk to Imelda and he needs to do it now.

Héctor sticks to letters when it comes to communicating with Imelda, it’s much cheaper, but this time he spends a good chunk of the money he has on him for a long distance phone-call.

It takes ages for the operators to connect his call from Mexico City all the way to Santa Cecilia, over an hour, and he’s sweating bullets as he waits. Ernesto thinks he’s out for a walk, but who knows how long that lie will last. 

The call finally gets connected to Santa Cecilia and it’s another half hour before someone is able to find Imelda and tell her she has a call waiting for her on the local depot’s new telephone.   

Imelda is flustered and worried that something terrible has happened. When she hears Héctor’s fuzzy voice across the connection she nearly breaks into tears, but instead reprimands him for wasting so much money on a  _phone call_  and demanding to know what’s so terribly wrong that he couldn’t write about it.

Héctor is so happy to hear his wife’s voice, it’s been months, and he spills everything to her as quickly as he can. He’s in danger, he’s trapped, he doesn’t know what to do, he wants so badly to come home to her and Coco but he doesn’t know if it will cause Ernesto to attack him, or even them. He doesn’t know anything about Ernesto anymore.

Imelda is stunned, but feels ill to realize that she somehow isn’t surprised. 

She’s never felt comfortable around Ernesto, especially the way he always treats her husband like a possession, but to know that Ernesto is actually planning to kill Héctor, that makes her wish she was in Mexico City herself so that she could knock his head off herself.

Héctor is shaking with fear now, trying so hard not to audibly panic as he holds the receiver to his ear, clinging to Imelda’s voice as she asks clarifying questions, establishing that there’s no easy way to turn Ernesto in to the police, that the first evidence against Ernesto will be Héctor’s death.

And that is unacceptable.

“Use the his own shotglass against him.” Imelda says.

“Diosa, no, I can’t-”

“I need you Héctor, I need you and Coco needs you. Don’t you  _dare_ leave this family behind, if this comes down to you or Ernesto I need you to promise me that you are not going to hesitate.”

“Imelda, I can’t,” Héctor’s voice cracks and he covers his eyes with his hand. “I can’t, it’s  _Ernesto,_  Imelda.”

“You  _can_  and you  _will.”_  Imelda says forcefully, her hand gripping the receiver cord. “Hector, mi vida, come home to us, protect this family. Please.”

There’s a long moment of silence. 

“The same glass?” Héctor’s voice asks.

“If Ernesto poisoned it then he can drink from it himself.” Imelda says quietly.

“How did it come to this?”  Héctor whispers.

“Come home.” Imelda says.

“I…I will.” Héctor says.

“Hurry.”

“I will.”

“Te amo.”

“Reza por mí.”

“Lo haré.” 


	3. The Discovery and the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to how Hector found out Ernesto was going to kill him and how it affected him after he killed Ernesto first.  
> (shallow prose)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People keep asking me about this story on my tumblr and I figure I'll keep posting the longer responses. 
> 
> Chapter 2 and 3 are shallow-prose flashback chapters, but chapter 4 is going to be a full, real chapter that picks up the story where chapter 1 left off.

Hector found out because he was lying awake in bed after a shouting match with Ernesto. Hector hates fighting and felt awful about it, so when Ernesto came back to the hotel room after “taking a walk” Hector pretended to be asleep so he wouldn’t have to talk to Ernesto again.

But Hector was still silently watching his friend through barely open eyes, especially when he heard Ernesto rummaging through their luggage. He was confused as he watched Ernesto pull out his luggage and actually pull out his songbook (which Ernesto  _knew_  was off limits) but then he shook his head and ut it all back. 

Which was awfully invasive, but Hector could have let that go, he was used to letting things slide around Ernesto. But then he watched Ernesto go to the small table in the room and pull a bottle out of his coat pocket, having purchased it on his walk apparently. He watched in growing horror as Ernesto carefully dripped some of the contents into the bottom of an empty shot glass, swirling the drops around until they had coated the glass and dried. 

Hector could smell the formaldehyde from where he lay pretending to be asleep, and it took every bit of his self-control to lie there instead of jumping up, especially when Ernesto turned and just stared at him for what felt like an hour before carefully tucking the laced shot glass into his own suitcase. 

After talking it over with Imelda the next day Hector decided to use the shot glass against Ernesto. He swapped the glass out of Ernesto’s luggage the next night while he was sleeping and casually poured his friend a drink while they were rehearsing the next night.

The whole time Hector was secretly impossibly wishing and hoping that he’d been wrong, that Ernesto had somehow put something that wasn't poison in the glass an that he wouldn’t die after all, that he really hadn’t been trying to kill him and everything could remain normal.

But sure enough, Ernesto took the drink and was soon absolutely dead.

Hector buried the body as best he could between terrified dry-heaving sobs and bought a ticket on the next train home to Santa Cecilia, where Imelda kept him indoors for an entire month while he tried to recover from the awful betrayal. 

If anyone asked what happened to Ernesto, the Riveras said that he’d run off.

In a few months Hector was back on the road, this time with his wife and child at his side. Within a few years of hard work and Imelda’s excellent business building skills, Hector and his heartwarming songs were on their way to fame and glory. He was an ever-man star, beloved because of how relatable and real he always felt. His fans often called him “Tio Hector” because of how much they loved him.

And Ernesto lay in a shallow grave somewhere outside the limits of Mexico City. Dead of food poisoning. Dead of suicide. Dead of his own betrayal. 

 

 

Hector gets grey streaks in his hair at the tender age of twenty-two, but that’s the least of the ways he’s affected. He always feels the need to go above and beyond when it comes to helping and caring for others, to the point of wearing himself out for his friends and family and fans. Imelda has to be his self control in that regard, reeling him in when he he gets into a manic state of not thinking about himself, trying subconsciously to  _prove_  that he deserves the love everyone shows him.

In fact, Imelda becomes his rock of sanity. She originally hadn’t wanted him to go on that final doomed tour with Ernesto because she’d had a bad feeling about it, but Hector had overruled her. Afterwards though, he run every decision by her, wanting her approval before he does anything. From then on they make all their decisions together, the choice to go back on the road, the choice to travel  as a family. 

It’s a long time before Hector is emotionally stable enough to feel alright making choices on his own, and only because Imelda insists he needs to be able to stand on his own two feet in his day-to-day life, but by then he and Imelda are so in-tune that they can tell what the other would say and act accordingly as a team even when they are apart. 

And of course Imelda’s other job for a long, long time is gently waking up Hector when the nightmares get too bad, holding him close until his breathing is steady again.


	4. Broken

 

Héctor didn’t allow himself to open the door until there had been only silence for several long minutes. He had to wait until he was sure Miguel had crossed over.

There was no way he’d have the strength to slam the door shut on his grandson a second time.

Héctor squeezed his eyes shut, knees tucked up to his chest as he sat on the floor against the door, forcing himself to wait just a little longer, just a little longer.

Why did it have to be Miguel? Quique’s boy especially was the very last one he would have wanted to hurt this way. Miguel was the grandson that Hector was always the most excited to see when they visited the living each year. A child as obsessed with music as he had been at his age, who had even set up his own little ofrenda for Héctor in his room.

Héctor had been so looking forward to meeting him someday, to tell him how proud he was of him.

But not like this, never like this.

Héctor grit his teeth at the silence, crushing the cuff of his charro suit sleeve in one hand as he counted down from one hundred. That would be enough time, it would have to be.

Why hadn’t he sent Dante for Imelda the moment Miguel had shown up at the party? She would have known how to handle this, she would have prevented this.

_Seventy-three, seventy-four._

He should have sent Miguel home faster, not let himself be carried away at the thrill of seeing him in the literal flesh.

_Forty-six, forty-five._

He really shouldn’t have faced Ernesto in front of Miguel, why had he been so stupid? He’d kept the secret for a whole century, it had felt good to finally rub it in Ernesto’s face, but not at this cost.

_Thirty-eight, thirty-seven._

Of course Miguel had been smart enough to piece things together, but of course the boy’s kind heart wouldn’t be ready for keeping those kinds of secrets. Of course he’d been terrified, of course he’d tried to run.

_Nineteen, eight-_

That was long enough, that was far too long already.

Héctor’s hands shook as he jumped up and unlocked the door behind him, carefully pulled it open, not knowing if Miguel was leaning against it or not.

He knew what he would see, had thought he was prepared for it, but his breath still caught raggedly in his chest as he looked down.

There on the ground lay a bundle of clothes and bones. A small skeleton, shining the pristine snowy white of the recently deceased.

“Oh, mi hijo.” Hector said softly, dropping to his knees beside his grandson.

He gently, so gently, scooped up Miguel’s crumpled and unconscious form into his arms. Hector set his jaw against the threatening tears. He’d already taken too much tonight, he didn’t deserve to take the time to cry too.

Miguel was so young, so young to have started his afterlife like this, there was nothing Hector would ever truly be able to do to make up for it. No presents would ever be able to replace precious years of life, no fame in the Land of the Dead would make things right again.

But Héctor would have to try. He would have to spare absolutely no effort for Miguel. He’d done what had to be done to protect the family, the Land of the Living would never have reason to harm the living Riveras, but now he had to try and repair the devastating damage he’d done to his own grandson.

From now on, everything he did was going to be for Miguel, for the sake of the boy that had been caught in the crossfire of the oldest feud in the family.

It really was the deepest irony that Ernesto had managed to kill a Rivera in the end, after all these years.

Héctor shuddered, shoving the thought out of his mind.

He cradled Miguel close to his chest, the small unconscious form impossibly light, and silently walked to the window seat. A window that wasn’t the opening kind, that had helped to trap Miguel. The sun was rising outside, its first rays spilling across the water below the mansion, but Hector could only look at the beautiful, horrible burden in his arms.

New arrivals in the land of the dead always slept, it could last anywhere from a few hours to a few days, depending on how they’d died. It took time for the soul gathered itself up for existence in the afterlife, and Hector had sat at the bedside of many a newly deceased family member in the Center for New Arrivals, but of course it had never been nearly this painful.

After everything Miguel had gone through tonight, the utter nightmare, who knew how long it would be before Miguel woke up from death?

“Lo siento.” Héctor whispered, gently brushing the brand-new markings on Miguel’s skull with his thumb. They looked so similar to his own, the same colorful swoops and swirls across his brow, but with cheek patterns just like Imelda’s. “Why did it have to start like this?”

He heard barking from the hallway, followed by running footsteps.

“Héctor! What-?”

He looked up in time to see Imelda follow Dante into the room, then freeze, eyes wide as she stared at the child in his arms.

“Oh no.” She said, rushing up to him, “It’s Miguel, it’s Miguel, isn’t it? He died when he wandered off tonight, didn’t he? I knew something terrible had happened, didn’t I tell you so? Why wasn’t I alerted by the DFR? Why didn’t they call me?”

Héctor shook his head, adjusting his hold on Miguel so he could take her hand in his.

Their visit to the living Riveras earlier that night had been a tense one. Instead of gathered around at home like usual, the entire living family had been out frantically searching for Miguel. He and Imelda hadn’t been able to stay long with the Spectacular preparations happening later that night, but they had ordered Dante to help track down their grandson, knowing the dog could track someone in either realm.

“He broke into our tomb tonight and stole my old guitar.” Héctor said quietly. He knew he wouldn’t be able to wake Miguel, but he still couldn’t bring himself to raise his voice any louder. “It cursed him to the land of the Dead. He said he’d had a fight with Elena last night about him leaving home to perform, he thought the guitar would bring him luck on his travels.”

“What? Leave home? He’s only twelve, why would he leave his family behind?” Imelda demanded, her voice heartbroken as she gently touched Miguel’s mussed hair.

“He was still alive when he was cursed,” Héctor said. “he ran into Ernesto before Dante found him and brought him here.”

“No.” Imelda’s grip tightened painfully on his hand and her voice dropped to an icy hiss. “I told you we should have gotten rid of him, I told you he was still a threat!”

“Diosa. Diosa, please,” Héctor said, pulling her closer, kissing her hand. “Ernesto died the second death tonight, he’s gone forever. He tried to coerce Miguel into doing him a favor and tracked him here when he refused. We fought, the truth came out, Pepita took him away, but Miguel had heard the truth about the poison, about Ernesto’s death.”

“That bestia,” Imelda’s gaze widened, Héctor could see her putting together exactly what had happened next. “How did he get past security? Don’t we pay them enough to keep out trash? Miguel’s far too young for those kinds of secrets, he never should have found out, he doesn’t deserve this.”

“He couldn’t agree to keep the secret.” Héctor said, choking. “I tried, I really tried Imelda, I promise I did.”

“Of course you did.” Imelda chastised, her voice heavy with grief. She slipped her arms around his shoulders, cradling his head against her ribcage protectively. “I know you did.”

“He should be home with Enrique and Luisa,” Héctor said miserably, “he should be playing his guitar, getting older.”

“Stop.” Imelda commanded. “You can’t do this to yourself this time, I need you to pull yourself together mi amor, be strong for Miguel’s sake. We’ll have to move quickly, you’ve already missed the opening of the Spectacular, no one could find you and the press will be eager to know what happened. I can send a message to Señora Kahlo to carry the rest of the show, but we need to have a good story for you to tell when people ask what happened.”

“You can tell them I couldn’t keep my own grandson safe.” Héctor said, closing his eyes tight.

“This was De la Cruz’s fault mi vida, not yours.” Imelda said firmly, running her fingers gently through his grey-streaked hair. “Miguel was wandering the land of the dead looking for us and when he arrived it was already too late. None of us realized how close to death he was and when we tried to send him back, De la Cruz tried to abduct him as blackmail. By the time we got him back it was too late for Miguel. Ernesto’s a known anti-Rivera, we’ve filed restraining orders publicly against him before, people will believe he would be desperate in his final hours.”

Héctor nodded numbly. This was always Imelda’s job, the coverup, she was a master of handling the media, for which he was forever grateful.

“I’m going to call the police so we can get an official investigation on the books, we can get Miguel’s death registered.” Imelda said, looking down at the boy sleeping against Héctor’s shoulder. “I’ve got enough strings I can pull to have him stay here with us while he recovers. We’ll have to keep him very close once he wakes up, it’s going to be a hard transition and we’ll need to keep him from the public eye until he’s adjusted..”

“I’m not leaving him.” Héctor said firmly, “I’m never leaving him, I already promised.”

“Alright, mi amor.” Imelda said, her voice becoming as gentle as her touch as she leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Set him on the bed, it’ll look better when the arrival agents come.”

“Sí.” Héctor nodded, releasing Imelda’s hand and carefully standing, carrying Miguel’s unconscious form to the bed and gently tucking him under the covers.

“We’re going to get through this.” Imelda said as he turned to her. “You protected the family, you did what had to be done, and Miguel is safe now. We are going to take care of him, claro?”

Héctor said nothing, instead pulling her into a hug and burying his face in her hair.

Imelda sighed, but held him tightly, letting him hold her as long as he needed. Being married for a century taught you things about your spouse, and they both knew that sometimes Hector just needed to be close to her.

“I’ll be back soon.” She said, stroking his hair. “Stay with him.”

“Always.” Héctor said, reluctantly pulling away from the hug.

“We’re going to get through this.” Imelda said, taking his face in her hands. “He’s safe now, he’s with family.”

Héctor nodded. She kissed him gently, then turned and left the room.

Héctor stood gazing after her for a long moment, pulled out of his reverie only when something leaned against his leg with a whine. He looked down to see Dante looking up at him, the alebrije’s head ducked and his tail drooping.

“I know boy, I know.” Héctor patted the dog’s head, but knew it didn’t make either of them feel better. “All we can do now is protect him, can I count on you for that?”

Dante leaned heavily against his leg, which Héctor took for a yes. He sighed as he patted the dog one more time, then walked over to the bedside, pulling up a chair.

It might be hours, it might be days before Miguel woke up. Probably days if Héctor was honest with himself. Maybe that would be enough time for Héctor to come to terms with what had happened, but he doubted it.

All he could do now was wait, wait and plan exactly how he was going to make it up to Miguel when he woke up.

 


	5. Determined

Three days. **  
**

It was three days before Miguel woke up.

Héctor was seated in the plush chair that had been moved by Miguel’s bedside for his convenience when he heard the boy’s first movements.

He looked up from the song he was composing in his notebook, quickly setting it aside and getting up as Miguel’s breathing became rapid, turning into distressed whimpering as he jerked and twitched, as if in the grip of a terrible nightmare.

“Dante, get Imelda.” Héctor ordered.

The dog jumped up from where he had been sleeping at the foot of the bed and quickly bounded out of the room.

Miguel’s struggling was getting worse, his whimpering turning into crying. Everyone was always a little disoriented when they woke up, but Héctor had never seen anything this bad.

“Miguel, it’s alright.” Héctor said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He hoisted Miguel up into his arms and held him close, keeping him from hurting himself. “It’s all right, you’re safe, it’s okay.”

Miguel’s crying subsided to whimpering again, and Héctor had to fight back tears as the little boy fretfully buried his face against his chest, curling up tighter in his arms. Still not awake, but no longer quite asleep either.

Héctor hummed as he held Miguel, blending together the nonsense snatches of the song he’d been working on. It seemed to calm Miguel, so he continued as the boy’s movements became more subdued, more conscious. One hand slowly opened and closed, Miguel’s face twitching in and out of a grimace, getting used to his new form.

“Papá?” Miguel’s voice asked quietly.

“I’m right here.” Héctor said.

Miguel’s eyes opened blearily, struggling to focus on Héctor’s face, blinking hard, then closing again in exhaustion.

Héctor couldn’t help thinking, not for the first time, how very similar dying was to being born.

By the time Imelda came running into the room behind Dante, Miguel’s eyes were open, still squinting a little, but softly aware for the first time in days.

“Holá Miguel.” Imelda said gently, coming and sitting on the edge of the bed beside them. “I’m your Mamá Imelda, how are you feeling?”

“He’s still disoriented.” Héctor said, stroking Miguel’s hair. “He hasn’t said much.”

“Where…where am I?” Miguel asked, the words sounding rusty in his mouth.

“You’ve died, mijo.” Imelda said gently. “You’re with your family now. You crossed here too early and stayed too long. Do you remember?”

Miguel was silent for a long moment, as if slowly processing this, then his breathing started to get uneven again.

“You died to protect the family,” Héctor said, “lo siento Miguel, you were very brave.”

“I want to go home.” Miguel said, his voice breaking. He looked down at his own skeletal hand, at the red silk pajamas he’d been changed into from his dirty living clothes, at Héctor and Imelda. “I want to go home, por favor.”

“Next year we’ll all go visit our living family.” Imelda promised, “but this is your home now. You’ll have everything you need Miguel, just ask and you’ll have it.”

“I want, I want…” 

But Miguel’s voice faded in fatigue, his eyes drifting closed.

His head dropped back against Héctor, who pulled him close again as Miguel slipped back into unconsciousness.

“He remembers, but he’s not adjusting well.” Imelda said, looking Miguel over with a critical eye. “I’ll see if I can track down a therapist that can keep their mouth shut, Miguel should be sitting up and talking by now, something might be wrong.”

“What’s wrong is how he died. Don’t push him,” Héctor said, shaking his head. “He’s been through too much, if he needs to take things slow then we should let him.”

“We need to make sure he doesn’t fall behind developmentally.” Imelda said, “We’re going to have to push him a little Héctor, he’ll be fine.”

“No.” Héctor said, a little too sharply. He grimaced at his tone, “Lo siento Imelda, I’d, I’d just rather take it slow with Miguel. I’ve already put him through enough, I don’t want him to have to deal with any more pain. Can we just take it easy to start off?”

Imelda was silent for a moment, watching his face, as if weighing something in her mind.

“If I don’t call a therapist do you promise to get him up and walking on your own as soon as you can?” She asked reluctantly.

“Sí, I promise.” Héctor said earnestly. If Imelda was giving in this easily it meant she could tell how much it meant to him. “We’ll get him up and about in no time, I’d just rather do it myself, at his own pace.”

“Well, alright then.” Imelda sighed, “but now that he’s moving again let’s have him in a guest room up nearer to our room. I’m starting to feel like a widow with you tucked away in this corner of the house all the time. And we need to get you in front of some cameras soon as well, I’m not the only one missing you.”

“Of course, whenever you like.” Héctor said, carefully eased himself off the bed and turning to tuck Miguel back in. He turned and kissed Imelda on the cheekbone. “Thank you again for everything you’ve done, I know clearing my schedule this week hasn’t been easy, it’s just been-”

“I know,” Imelda said, putting her hands on his ribcage. “I’m glad you’re taking care of him, I just want you both back in the sunshine as quickly as possible, I don’t want you two becoming hermits down here.”

“The moment he’s ready,” Héctor promised. “he’ll be right at my side.”

 

***

 

Three days.

It had been three days since Miguel had disappeared.

Enrique splashed water onto his face from the small sink in the police department’s bathroom. He looked up at the mirror, water dripping from his chin. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair unkempt, his clothes a mess. He couldn’t remember whether he’d slept or not in the last three days, but he didn’t think so. 

In the first hours when Miguel had run off he’d been on the street himself, pounding the pavement and shouting himself hoarse as his family, and then later the whole neighborhood, split up around town looking for his son. He’d gone to the family crypt himself, sure he would find Miguel pouting there, but all he’d found was Papá Héctor’s old prize guitar on the floor of the mausoleum instead of on its wall brackets.

And no sign of Miguel.

As night turned to day the search had been upgraded to search-and-rescue teams combing the hills of Santa Cecilia with tracking dogs and helicopters. A missing persons report was filed, the Rivera family had started conducting interviews with the media as the family’s search campaign officially launched.

And now two days had turned into three.

Enrique pulled at his hair distractedly, gripping the edge of the sink as he clenched his jaw. What was the use of having all this family money  _if it couldn’t find his son_?

Enrique’s mother had been a wreck, convinced she’d driven Miguel off, made him run away from home. It was taking every bit of Enrique’s charity to console her instead of agreeing with her, but as the days wore on even the detectives were starting to say “abduction” instead of “run-away.”

It was a built-in risk of belonging to a famous family, there were always monsters who would try to take advantage of the family wealth, try to leverage a ransom. But no one had come forward with any demands yet, which made “abduction” look more and more like a dementedly hopeful wish.

Enrique looked away from the mirror. He ripped off a paper towel from a nearby dispenser and did his best to scrub away his emotions with the water on his face.

He had another TV interview in half an hour and had to get himself looking halfway presentable again, he needed to be ready to represent the Rivera family.

He looked in the mirror one more time before leaving to go find Luisa, who would be bringing a fresh set of clothes to the station soon. The man staring back at him was unrecognizable, desperate, almost dangerous looking.

Well, so be it.

Enrique was going to do whatever it took to get his son back.

And  _when_  he found whoever had taken Miguel away from him, they were going to wish they were dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE amount of extra backstory in this AU is being generated through asks on my tumblr, you can search for "villain!au" on my blog to find it all. And don't be shy about dropping me an ask yourself if you're curious about anything in the au. 
> 
> Asks are what grew this one-shot into it's own au, which has been really fun!
> 
> \- Wit
> 
> im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com


	6. Miguel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanation taken from my Tumblr (like chapter 2 and 3 are). 
> 
> This is being used to gloss over a jump in time to when the next actual prose chapters will be taking place.

Hector keeps his promise of never leaving Miguel, which means that he is there for every second of Miguel’s recovery. It’s extremely disorienting for Miguel to experience such constant, genuinely warm, but arguably overbearing care from the man that his memory tells him was the cause of his death. 

Because Miguel is in such a fragile emotional state while recovering, this confusion combined with overwhelming grief hits him much deeper than it might have otherwise, causing parts of him to shut down at the deep-seated confusion that now rules his (after)life.

In order to cope at all with his situation, Miguel’s 12-year-old mind reacts badly and latches on to whatever is immediately present instead of trying to tangle through the impossible net of moral ambiguity and confusion that surrounds him. Unfortunately, the most immediately present thing in his (after)life is Papa Héctor. 

Miguel becomes a silent and withdrawn shell of his former self, missing many developmental milestones he should have hit while recovering from death, in a sense regressing several years mentally and emotionally. He would have benefitted greatly from therapy, but Héctor was too blinded by guilt/grief-driven protective possessiveness to allow that to happen like Imelda knew it probably should. He is overly motivated to make Miguel’s afterlife as stress-free as possible, to the point of being damaging.

Miguel is not catatonic, he is able to hold conversations (even if he isn’t much of a talker anymore) and is able to carry out assigned tasks, but he often needs Héctor’s prompting to engage in activities. He sticks right by Héctor’s side and had extreme separation anxiety if they are apart for too long. Miguel also suffers from panic attacks and is easily overwhelmed in social situations, unless he is with Héctor. 

Miguel still manages to charm everyone he meets, but now it’s because he’s Héctor’s adorably well-dressed and shy shadow, even clinging to Héctor’s jacket or hand when he’s overwhelmed. Most people assume he is much younger than he actually is because of it, but enjoy seeing him at every appearance Hector makes. They become quite an iconic pair, one never being seen without the other, and it warms everyone’s heart to see Héctor being such a good great-great-grandfather. 

Miguel warms up a little when Héctor can convince him to play music with him, but Miguel doesn’t always feel up to it, meaning those times are often rare and afterwards he becomes distant and numb again.

Miguel knows that Héctor was the cause of his death, he doesn’t have amnesia, but it’s not long at all before he abstractly accepts that he did indeed need to die in order to protect his family. He is so tragically out of his depth in this situation that he desperately clings to the father figure he has been presented with in an effort to cope at all.

After a few years he even calls Héctor “Papá,” instead of “Papá Héctor.”

 

Imelda does do her best to help Miguel, later on there are therapists involved that do help Miguel from collapsing even farther, (especially with physical therapy) but quite frankly the fact remains that there’s only so much that they can really do to help Miguel after killing him, keeping him under incredibly strict social conditions, and feeding him Brainwash Lite™. 

If they were willing to tell a therapist  _everything_  and let someone else try to rehabilitate Miguel, things would doubtlessly turn out much better, but Imelda knows that there’s already far too many existing conditions that are forcing them into a less than ideal situation in caring for Miguel. 

At the end of the day, Héctor and Imelda have already done an incredible amount of damage to their grandson, and as long as Miguel is with them in that situation he is likely to remain stagnant in his progression and recovery.

 

Miguel’s family held onto the strained hope that Miguel would be found alive for several years. Miguel had a year-round memorial set up for him in the home that had his picture on it, but it was several years before his parents finally worked up the courage to face the grief of moving his picture from the memorial to the family ofrenda.

This meant that Miguel was unable to cross the flower bridge the first few years after his death, a situation that led to a phenomenal amount of bureaucratic fury on Héctor and Imelda’s part to argue and even try to bribe the authorities to allow their grandson over the bridge, but there was nothing anyone could do. 

Obviously this did not help Miguel at all in his post-death development. He dreaded every November when he knew he would be left behind with Tio Oscar y Felipe while everyone else went to visit the land of the living without him. He loves his Tios and the rest of the family, but being apart from Héctor brings panic attacks and it scares him.

By the time the Riveras were informed that Miguel could now cross to visit his living family Miguel was too far gone to care. He goes every year, but only because Héctor does. He clings closely to Héctor the whole visit and refuses to interact with anyone else while they are there, he says nothing and makes eye contact with no one. 

Héctor often has to carry him back home across the bridge when they’re done since Miguel is exhausted by the experience.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE amount of extra backstory in this AU is being generated through asks on my tumblr, you can search for "villain!au" on my blog to find it all. And don't be shy about dropping me an ask yourself if you're curious about anything in the au.
> 
> Asks are what grew this one-shot into it's own au, which has been really fun!
> 
> \- Wit
> 
> im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com


	7. Suspicion

“Socorro just called, she says her flight landed safely.” **  
**

Enrique looked up from where he’d been pretending to read a book in the living room. He absently rubbed at his chest as his wife walked in, pocketing her phone.

“She says she’s meeting up with the rest of her band at their hotel once she gets her drum equipment off-loaded.” Luisa said, coming up behind his chair and stroking his shoulders. She rubbed the side of his neck as he sighed and tipped his head. “Are you feeling sore again?”

“Sí, I don’t know why,” Enrique said, grimacing. He closed his eyes and leaning into Louisa’s touch as she worked at the knots in his shoulders. He coughed, rubbing his eyes as an unexpected wave of nausea washed over him. “I don’t think I slept badly on it. I think I might be coming down with something.”

Enrique straightened in his chair in an effort to dispel the tight pain in his chest, trying to take a deep breath even as his chest seemed to constrict. It couldn’t be allergies, he’s never had allergies that caused shortness of breath like this.

“It’s all the traveling stress from the Miguel Foundation speaking you’ve been doing this month.” Luisa said, her voice sounding worried from behind him. “You really should see a doctor, mi vida, you’re only fifty-one, you shouldn’t be having these kinds of pains.”

“No, no, I’m perfectly healthy.” Enrique said, forcing himself to stand. “I don’t need to waste time on a doctor. I just need to lie down for a bit, I’ll be fine.”

He swayed as he got to his feet, then stumbled back as his vision momentarily blacked out.

“Queque, what’s wrong, are you all right?” Luisa said. He felt her grab him from behind, supporting him as he tried to stay upright.

“I’m-”

Enrique gasped as a sharp pain stabbed through his chest. He doubled over, dropping painfully to his knees. He clutched at his chest as the blinding pain blacked out his vision again and he collapsed onto his side.

“Enrique!” He distantly heard Luisa scream.

The pain in his chest took over every bit of him, growing and sweeping across his body, eating away at his mind until there was nothing left.

Nothing left but darkness.

***

Waking up was slow, so slow.

For a long time Enrique was dimly aware of sounds around him, but without his brain caring to listen. It could have been minutes or years before he drifted to true awareness, before his brain registered his existence again, clicking his sense of self back into place.

He was Enrique Rivera. He was in bed. He had just woken up.

Enrique took a deep breath, his mind feeling sluggish as he turned onto his side and let his eyes slowly drift open, squinting tiredy against the light in the room. He must have slept in if that much sun was coming through the windows.

He grimaced as he propped himself up on his elbow, his whole chest ached terribly for some reason. Maybe he really should see a doctor sometime, like Luisa kept saying he should.

Speaking of Luisa...where...?

He stared at the empty space in the bed beside him, seeing many things that seemed wrong, but having to wait for his brain to tell him why as it processed at a maddenly slow rate.

Not only was Luisa not there, but this was a twin-sized bed. He had never seen it before. He looked up and blinked hard as he took in the foreign room around him, all pastel yellows and greens, sparsely decorated in hospital style.

“Mijo, you’re awake.”

Enrique’s mind was picking up speed now, taking things in faster as he turned to look towards the familiar voice, not believing what he was hearing. He hadn’t heard that voice in over fifteen years.

“M-Mamá Coco?” He asked weakly his words sticking in his throat and a cold feeling flushing over him.

“Welcome home Quique, it’s so good to see you again.” Mamá Coco said, leaning forward in her wicker chair and gently taking his hand. “We didn’t think you would be coming so soon, but it’s good to see you.”

“I, you’re...” Enrique’s head spun and the awful pain in his chest flared, sending him collapsing back onto his pillow with a strangled whimper.

He stared at his abuelita as she calmly watched him. Her hair was done up in her usual two long braids and her sweater shawl was just like the one she’d always worn in her last years.

But her face. Her hands. She...

He caught sight of his own hand as he looked down to where she was still gently holding it, and jolted.

Bone.

Gleaming, white, dry, and very, very,

“Dead.” Enrique said, his breathing rough and weak as he closed his eyes tightly against the staggering realization. “I’m dead, I died.”

He remembered now. The chest pain, his collapse, Luisa’s scream.

_Luisa._

“I have to go back.” Enrique said, pushing himself upright and trying to throw off the covers, “I have to get to Luisa, I have to-”

“Enrique, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Mamá Coco chided, catching his shoulder as he swayed dangerously halfway off the bed, forcing him to sit as a dizzying rush swept through his head at his sudden movement. “You just died mi hijo, you’ve only been recovering for a few hours, you’ll need to rest a bit more than that before you go charging off.”

“I can’t, I can’t be dead,” Enrique gasped, grimacing against the pain in his chest, his, his...

He looked down and felt another wave of nausea. His  _ribcage_?  

He put a hand to his forehead and cringed at the awful sensation of bone scraping bone, an unpleasant shiver running down his spine.

His spine?

He grit his teeth and forced himself not to look again to see his own spine. Too much, it was too much all at once. He was going to lose it if he did too much all at once.

Luisa had been right, she was always right, why hadn’t he listened? A heart attack? That was so, so  _preventable_.

“Is there any way to go back?’ He asked, forcing himself not to scream, to try and make his voice sound as normal as possible. “I need to go home, Luisa is going to be devastated, I can’t leave her like this. Could this be a near-death experience? Can I get back somehow?”

“It hurts to be separated from those we love,” Mamá Coco said patiently. “but I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient with the rest of us. Don’t worry, Luisa will come eventually, everyone always does.”

Enrique shook his head, grimacing. No, no, no, no. Luisa had to stay alive, she had to stay for Socorro, for their three grandchildren. She needed to stay away from death for as long as possible, she didn't deserve this too.

But how could he survive without her?

What was left of Enrique’s body ached, and what was left of his heart hurt even more badly. Enrique didn’t know if the dead could cry, but his breathing was beginning to catch and gasp as if he were about to try his hardest. He hadn’t felt this emotionally gutted since-

He gasped, standing up fast enough to make Mamá Coco frown, but he didn’t care about the dizziness this time.

“Miguel?” He said urgently, the decades old question spilling out of him. “Is he here? Is he dead? Did he really die?”

“Sí.” Mamá Coco said quietly, watching him closely.

Sí.

Miguel was dead.

They’d all known it, after twenty years without even a hint they’d all known deep down that he must be dead, but finally hearing it felt was a heaviest bittersweet pain he’d ever experienced.

“How old?” Enrique asked hoarsely, needed and dreading the answer.

Not a single birthday had gone unoted over the last twenty years, Miguel was thirty-three years old. Should have been thirty-three years old.

“Enrique,” Mamá Coco sighed, reaching down to pick up a photo album off the floor. “You’re going to see a lot of unsettling and different things today. I need you to promise that you will do your best to adjust and accept that many things are different in the land of the dead. Can you promise me that?”

“When did Miguel die?”

“Enrique.”

“Sí, lo siento Mamá Coco, I promise. But please, my son, Miguel, can I see him? What really happened to him?”  

Mamá Coco lifted the heavy photo album onto the bed and flipped open the cover. “You’ll meet everyone tonight, including Miguel. We live together at your Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda’s mansion, I’ll be taking you there as soon as you’re feeling able to walk. The arrival agents say you should be ready to leave this afternoon.”

Enrique tried to bite his lip to stifle his frustration, only to shudder at finding no lip to bite. It was fine, he could play be her rules, he could wait just a minute longer.

“The family is all coming together to celebrate your arrival and you’ll need to know who everyone is, so pay attention. You know about Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda of course.” Mamá Coco said, pointing to the first photo in the album.

It was a large and familiar sepia photograph he’d seen in family albums a million times growing up. Mamá Coco was a little girl on Mamá Imelda’s knee as she stared down the camera, and Papá Héctor smiling gently as he held his old performing guitar to the side. It was a picture from the years before Papá Héctor had become famous.

“That was them in life, and this is them now.” Mamá Coco said, her bony finger tracing to the opposite page. “They care for the family.”

She tapped a newer looking photo of two impeccably dressed skeletons, posing for the camera with an ease that came from a lifetime of fame and papárazzi. Mamá Imelda looked just as determined but more confident, and Papá Héctor’s smile was a little sharper, probably from constant use, but just as warm as ever.

“Your Papá Héctor has been caring for Miguel ever since he died, they are both very close.” Mamá Coco looked up at him. “Quique, when children die young they’re often adopted by a surrogate family member here until their real parents arrive. Sometimes it’s a simple hand-off, but sometimes it’s more complicated than that. Miguel has been very close with Papá for a very very long time, you need to be aware that your arrival is going to be a sensitive issue. I need you to be patient over the next few weeks as things are figured out and keep a cool head, alright?”

“He’s a child?” Enrique asked hoarsely, his brain seizing on only that detail, “He died when he was young?”

“Miguel disappeared because a curse transported him here.” Mamá Coco said gently, “He didn’t make it back in the narrow window he had before he died. Miguel died the same night he disappeared twenty years ago.”

The same night.

Enrique had known, suspected, feared deep down all along that the truth was something like this, but that hadn’t stopped him from idly imagining what Miguel must look like as the years passed. Miguel hitting his growth spurt, his voice deepening, growing facial hair, his shoulders broadening. Looking just like him perhaps, or maybe even like Luisa’s father.  

But he’d been wrong. Miguel had never changed from the picture they put on his memorial all those years ago.

“I need to see him.” Enrique said, fatigue beginning to creep into his mind, “Please, I need to see my boy.”

“You’ll see him tonight.” Mamá Coco promised as she turned the page and pointed to the next picture. “This is little Miguelito now.”

Enrique pulled the album towards him, looking at the picture.

“Oh Miguel.” Enrique said, not waiting for permission as he slipped the photo out of its sleeve so he could look closer. “Miguel what happened to you.”

Papá Héctor looking as confident as ever, but now with an arm lovingly wrapped around a small child skeleton shyly leaning against his jacket as he looked at the camera. Their facial markings were so similar, and the boy had a small navy blue mark just above his mouth where Miguel’s mole had been in life.

Miguel had never been shy like that in life, but maybe the picture had been taken shortly after his death, when he was still recovering. At least it looked like Papá Héctor had taken good care of him. At least Miguel had been able to rely on loving family when Enrique couldn’t be there for him. Enrique would have to thank Papá Héctor for looking after his boy.

“Miguel is much different than you remember him Quique, he’s been through a lot, he’s much quieter now.” Mamá Coco said. She turned the page again. “These are my siblings, you’re great-Tias and Tíos, pay attention for a moment.”

Enrique tried, he really did try to focus as Mamá Coco toured him through the rest of the family. He made it through her siblings; Mateo (the director of the Rivera Foundation, someone he’d known in life), Leti (Mateo’s twin that had died young of cancer), and Héctor Junior (a stiff businessman Enrique had known of but never met).

And the youngest of the siblings, someone named Rodrigo, someone whose picture Mamá Coco sighed tiredly over, shaking her head. “Your Tio Rodrigo is...very spirited. He died when he was twenty-six and doesn’t get along with most of the family. You won’t see much of him in the afterlife I’m afraid. If you do, just let him be. He can be a trouble maker, just ignore him and you’ll be fine.”

After Rodrigo came endless pages of primos, Mamá Coco turning page after page after page, all the skeletal faces and half familiar names blurring together. The dull ache in Enrique’s chest seemed to be fading, but that may have just been his imagination, he had to fight to keep his eyes open against the tiredness that was pulling at him.

He kept looking at the picture in his hand, at Miguel, wondering what their reunion later that night would be like. If only Luisa were here with them.

Well, no. If only he and Miguel could somehow go back to Luisa, to Socorro. If only their family could be brought back together in one place, without death.

“Normally we would ride home in a private car,” Mamá Coco said, finally reaching the end of the photo album and closing it. “But as soon as you’re feeling up to it I thought I’d take you on the sky trolley and show you a bit of the city while we travel. Rest a little while longer, we’ll leave out in a couple hours to get you ready to meet everyone, alright mijo?”

“And then I’ll see Miguel.” Enrique said, grateful to be allowed to lay back down on his pillow, already feeling himself slipping away as he still held Miguel’s photo.

“Remember Quique, things are going to be different.” Mamá Coco said.

For some reason she looked mildly concerned as Enrique closed his eyes, but he was already asleep before he could wonder why.

***

“Well anyway, it was so good to finally meet you, welcome home.” Leti said, giving Enrique a hug.

Enrique smiled as he returned to hug, forcing himself not to cringe at the unsettling clacking of bones under their clothing. Hugging his teenage great-tia had been only the latest in what had already been a long evening of handshakes, shoulder slaps, spirited stories, and of course skeletal hugs.

He hadn’t realized just how much family he had, let alone how well known the Riveras would be in the Land of the Dead. On the sky trolley ride over Mamá Coco had pointed out “Plaza Rivera,” among other landmarks dedicated to Héctor and his posterity. And that was after explaining that he’d woken up in the “Rivera wing” of the hospital.

Arriving at the massive Rivera mansion had nearly been overwhelming, it easily outshown even the large estates the Riveras has in the land of the living, which was saying something. It had been surprisingly pleasant to meet everyone waiting inside, connecting with dozens of enthusiastic family members, most of whom somehow seemed to be very familiar with his life even if he usually knew little of them.

At first it had been easy to stay busy meeting and talking with family, but now that Enrique had made the rounds of dozens of people that he had forgotten names of already everyone else seemed content to catch up with each other, leaving him drifting now that Tia Leti walked off to join another group.

Enrique glanced around the ballroom yet again, looking for any sign of Miguel. When Mamá Coco had turned him loose to mix and mingle she’d warned him Papá Héctor and Miguel were at a pre-scheduled charity event and would be coming late.

“Enrique,” someone (a...second-cousin?) said, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing across the crowd. “Papá Héctor’s here.”

An electric jolt shot through Enrique and he craned his neck to see over the crowd, zeroing in on the brim of a white and gold sombrero on the other side of the room. He didn’t even think to say thank you before he started pushing and weaving his way towards his target. Enrique ran as quickly as he could, causing others to jump out of his way.

Miguel was here. Here in the same room. Here where Enrique could finally, finally reach him. He would be able to scoop him up into a hug and make twenty years of apologies and hear his little boy talk and chatter again, just like he’d been longing to hear for decades.

Enrique was panting when he reached the other side of the ballroom, bursting through the crowd to the small clearing where a man in a fine white and gold charro suit was holding the hand of a boy in a matching outfit as he talked pleasantly with others.

“Miguel!” Enrique cried.

The boy turned to look at him and Enrique’s absent heart ached to recognize his son, despite how different he looked in death.

But instead of running to him, Miguel’s eyes got wide and he whimpered, leaning up against the man he was with and holding more tightly onto his hand.

“Miguel, what is it? What’s wrong?” Papá Héctor asked, looking down at the boy, then looked up and spotted Enrique. Realization flitted across his face and he smiled, extended an arm in welcome. “Enrique, welcome home, it’s good to see you. I suppose it’s time for you to meet Miguel.”

Enrique stepped closer, but there was now a growing ill feeling in his ribcage that had nothing to do with his recent heart attack. Something was very wrong.

Héctor put a hand on Miguel’s head and the boy turned toward him, silently keeping his glazed eyes on Enrique as he clung to Héctor’s jacket, like a scared toddler might do. The boy didn’t make a sound, watching Enrique without actually looking him in the eye.

“Miguel...” Enrique choked, dropping to one knee, looked at the skeletal shell that was left of what had once been his son. “Miguel, what, what happened? Mijo, what happened to you, what’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid he’s been through quite a lot.” Héctor said, but Enrique didn’t take his eyes off Miguel, who stared back, still not meeting his gaze, somehow managing to look blank and terrified at the same time.

“He’s been like this ever since he arrived,” Héctor said sadly, gently stroking Miguel’s hair as the boy clung to him. “we don’t know exactly what it was that the curse did to him. I assure you he’s been to the best doctors and therapists that money can buy over the last twenty years, we’ve done our very best to take good care of him. As long as he’s with me we’re alright, aren’t we, Chamaco? But being around a lot of new people can be a little scary.”

“I am his father.” Quique said, the words coming out unexpectedly hot with the heat of the tears he couldn’t cry. “I am not new, there’s something wrong with him.”

“Quique,” Héctor said, looking down at him with an expression that inexplicably made Enrique want to hit something, “I know this must be hard for you, but I need you to understand. Miguel has been with us for twenty years now.”

_Longer than you ever took care of him._

The unspoken words rang in Enrique’s head as he looked up from Miguel. The look on Héctor’s face confirmed that it was exactly what he was trying to communicate.

_Miguel is mine now, and you need to take a big step back._  Héctor seemed to be saying.

So this is what Mamá Coco had been trying to warn him about.

“Miguel,” Enrique said gently, looking back at the catatonic child. “Miguel, it’s me, it’s Papá, it’s been a really long time since I’ve seen you, Mamá and I have missed you so much.”

No response. No words. None of the fire he remembered in his son. Not the quick smile, the bright eyes, the loving teasing or the musical laugh, the bright joy or the calm warmth.

As a skeleton he didn't even look like his Miguel, only the red-brown eyes and the small navy beauty mark above his lip were at all similar to the boy Enrique had missed and wept and prayed over for decades now. To the pictures he’d carried for years. To the son he had never, never stopped hoping he would somehow see again.

This was not Miguel.

This was a nightmare.

“What is wrong with my son?” said Enrique, getting to his feet and staring Héctor down. “What have you done to him?”

“Miguel is a fragile child who has been through more than he deserves.” Héctor said quietly, wrapping his arm around Miguel in a protective way that made Enrique want to scream. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation tomorrow when we’ve all had some rest.”

“Miguel, it’s me, look at me.” Enrique said, taking a step forward, “I know you remember me, mijo.”

“I don’t think he’s in the mood-”

“Stop talking for him.” Enrique snapped, feeling desperation rising in him. “And why are we having this conversation out in the open? It’s obviously too much for him, I need a room where I can be alone with him for a while.”

This was wrong, this was all so wrong. In all the hundreds, the thousands of ways he’d imagined seeing Miguel again over the years, not even his most awful imaginings had come close to this.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Héctor said, his voice as warm as ever, but now with a hard edge creeping into his tone. “I think this is as far as we go tonight. I’m glad that you’ve joined us Enrique, welcome home. Miguel’s had a long day and I think it’s time he get some rest, perhaps we can continue this conversation when I return.”

Enrique watched helplessly as Héctor turned and led Miguel away from him.

Héctor was holding Miguel’s hand as if he were leading along a five year-old, a deeply unsettling sight that clashed terribly with the memories Enrique had of his son, a boy who’d been charging off on his own since he could walk. He’d never had to pull him along like that.

“Miguel.”  Enrique called, the word slipping out before he even realized it.

And Miguel looked over his shoulder, back at Enrique, just for a moment, before being silently tugged along again.

“Miguel...” Enrique said quietly, the aching in his chest getting worse as his son disappeared into the crowd.

Should he run to catch up with them? Should he, he didn't know, talk to Mamá Coco about getting Miguel back? At that moment he wanted nothing more than to grab his son right and take him far away from Héctor, to get a chance to talk to his boy alone, find out what was really going on.

But...Héctor had said Miguel was fragile, which Enrique had to beleive after what he’d seen. Maybe forcing Miguel to see him really was making things worse.

And as much as it tore Enrique apart, it was true that Héctor had been caring for Miguel longer than he ever had in life...and Enrique didn’t know the first thing about curses or their effects...and it really had been such a very long time since he and Miguel had seen each other.

Maybe...maybe things really had changed.

Enrique rubbed his forehead, flinching his hand away at the still-unfamiliar feeling of bone-on-bone. He didn’t know how his own body worked anymore, but it certainly felt like he was choking up, like he was going to cry.

He needed Luisa. She would know what to do, she would know how to handle this nightmare, she would know how to wake up Miguel, would know what was wrong with him.

Enrique stared up at the high ceiling above him, gritting his teeth and willing himself to get a grip. He hadn’t even been dead a whole day, whether he liked it or not, things were indeed different on this side, just like Mamá Coco said.

He should be grateful Miguel had been taken care of. He shouldn’t be feeling furious jealousy raging inside him. He shouldn’t be jumping to wild conclusions against how must have been treating his boy in order to reduce him to the hollow shell he was now. He shouldn’t be wishing there was some way he could get Miguel away from Héctor, at least for a day or two.

He shouldn’t.

But he was.

Something crashed into him from behind and Enrique yelped as some kind of liquid sloshed over him.

"Lo siento, güey, didn't see you there." A voice chuckled lazily.

Enrique looked up from his soaked shirt to see a man holding two now half-full glasses of wine. The skeleton’s smile looked as disposable as his apology had sounded, and his bloodshot heavy-lidded eyes didn’t help.

He was young, or rather, he must have  _died_  young, because Enrique recognized his small beaded braid from the photo album Mamá Coco had shown him earlier.

“Tio Rodrigo?” he asked.

“In the flesh.” Rodrigo grinned, his words just a  _little_  slurred on the ends.

Enrique stared at him, momentarily taken aback. In the flesh? Did he really-

“Your faaaaace!” Rodrigo crowed, managing to spill even more of his drinks on the ground as he laughed uproariously. “You freshies are  _hilarious_ , I swear, you guys always take forever to loosen up.”

“I see it’s possible to get drunk in the land of the dead?” Enrique said flatly, his agitation turning to annoyance as he looked down at his ruined shirt again.

“Ayyyy, sin hígado, sin problema, sí?” Rodrigo said, elbowing him in the ribs. “Gotta do  _something_  to survive around all these stiffs.”

He paused, but Enrique didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction to his second death joke.

“Anyway, welcome to the family or whatever.” Rodrigo said, his lazy smile thinning as he shrugged and took a sip of what was left in one of his glasses, “This is probably the last time you’ll ever talk to me, so here’s my magical Tio wisdom for you: be careful where you stick your hand, everything around this place bites.” He shoved his second glass in Enrique’s hand. “And here, you’ll need this before you meet  _Papi_ , unless of course you’re already one of his bootlickers. Anyway, have fun wandering this zoo for the rest of your afterlife.”

Rodrigo made a kind of sloppy salute and walked off, leaving Enrique with a practically empty glass, and staring in mild shock.

He had  _never_  heard a Rivera, dead or alive, talk about the family like that.  _Especially_  not about Papá Héctor.

Rodrigo had sounded downright disgusted.

Enrique needed to know more.

“Hey! Tio Rodrigo, wait!” Enrique called, making his way through the crowd of chatting family member that he didn’t recognize.

He noticed he was attracting stares and dropped his voice, forcing himself to walk after Rodrigo instead of running. Mamá Coco had hinted that Rodrigo was the black sheep of the family, it might seem strange for the new arrival to be paying him so much attention.

Enrique carefully made his way to the edge of the crowd and spotted a massive, winged cat alebrije curled up by a roaring fireplace in the far corner. Lounging against her softly glowing side was Rodrigo, legs crossed, eyes closed, and hands behind his head as leaned against the huge cat like she was a sofa.

“Tio Rodrigo?” Enrique said as he approached, eyeing the huge multi-colored beast a little nervously. If it was allowed indoors it had to be safe, right?  

“Qué?” Rodrigo cracked open a bloodshot eye, squinting at him. “What, already want to come tell me off? You’re faster than most, I’ll give you that.”

“You said that “everything bites,” you made it sound like Papá Héctor might bite too.” Enrique said, sitting down on the floor across from Rodrigo. “I need you to tell me what’s going on around here.”

Rodrigo stared at him, both eyes open now. But then his lazy expression grew cold. “Get lost. I’m minding my own business, go mind yours. And tell Teto Junior to come face himself if he wants me harassed instead of sending freshies to do it for him.”

“I...no. No one sent me. I need answers.” Enrique said, squaring his shoulders. “I’m Miguel’s father, the little boy that Papá Héctor won't let go of? He disappeared, well, died, twenty years ago and I don’t even recognize him anymore. I think something terrible’s happened to him, if you know anything about it please tell me, something is wrong and you’re the only one I’ve heard say anything negative about this family.”

Rodrigo stared hard at Enrique, slowly tipping his head back, as if his thought process was slowly loading. Which it undoubtedly was, judging by how much alcohol it seemed that he probably drank on a regular basis.

“You’re el espectro’s real Papá?” Rodrigo asked.

“What do you mean, “real” Papá?” Enrique asked irritably, “Of course I am.”

Rodrigo let out a low whistle, looking at Héctor with something that approached pity.

“Hey, uh, you might want to... You don’t actually have to live here.” Rodrigo said, looking out at the crowd beyond them, adjusting to sit up a little straighter. “Like, they’ll make it sound like you have to, but you can leave. Get a flat like me, strike out on your own, alright?”

“I’m not talking about housing, I’m talking about Miguel.” Enrique said sharply. Why was he even talking to the family drunk if he couldn’t even hold a coherent conversation?

Rodrigo looked him in the eye, his dazed focus crystallized suddenly into something raw and hard, reminding Enrique unsettlingly of the look he’d gotten from Héctor only minutes before.

“Look Quique, I’m going to be straight with you.” He said, “You don’t have a son anymore. That nino’s gone, he’s been gone for years. He wasn’t even that bad when he first arrived, but whatever’s wrong with him, it’s permanent now. I’ve never seen him more than five inches away from my father, the kid calls _him_  Papá. He belongs to my father and Papá does not like it when people take his things from him. Move on before you get hurt, if you stick around he’ll grind you down too.”

“Papá Héctor said the curse is what changed Miguel,” Enrique said, forcing himself to push past the pain of hearing Miguel called another man Papá. “Héctor said he’s been to therapists, but if he has then I don’t understand why Miguel is in such bad condition. I need to talk to Miguel, to feel out what the problem is myself. Maybe they’ve had him too long to see clearly what I could see with new eyes, but he wont even let me near Miguel.”

“Look, you’re talking to the wrong person, he won’t let me near the kid either.” Rodrigo rolled his eyes, looking away as he absently threading his fingers through the alebrije cat’s fur. “I’m too much of a bad influence, they don’t want their old youngest child to rub off on their new one. I don’t know what his deal is, all I know is that you’re not going to be on their good side if you try to get near him without a signed permission slip. El espectro is Papá’s lucky charm, pretty sure they’ll both die the second death if they’re ever separated at this point.”

Mamá Coco had made it sound like Miguel was attached to his caretakers, not that he’d been completely re-written by a set of adoptive parents.

If only Enrique could just get Miguel alone, if he could just talk to him for a while. Maybe Héctor really had taken him to doctors, maybe he really had been trying his best, but evidently whatever he was doing was only making things worse.

And Enrique was Miguel’s father,  _not_  Héctor. Enrique could help Miguel recover, he knew who Miguel really was, he’d been the one to actually raise the boy, Héctor has only seen him trapped in this stagnant state.

Which wasn’t even remotely the same thing as being his parent. Héctor didn’t have any special one of claim over Miguel, he was just used to no one challenging him.

Maybe it was time for that to change.

“Look, lo siento Queque, really,” Rodrigo said, stiffly getting to his feet and stretching. “but the only way to survive this family is to get away from them. Trust me, I know. There’s some open flats near my place at Plaza Rivera, get your family stipend and get yourself set up there. Take my advice and leave this all behind, move on before you get hurt.”

Rodrigo turned and dug his fingers into the alebrije jaguar’s fur, dragging his hands back and forth across her huge neck. The massive animal opened her blazing yellow eyes and stretched luxuriously, extending her legs and wings, making Enrique shiver at the amount of tense energy coursing through her gigantic frame. This was a creature that looked like it could even kill the dead if it wanted to.

“Pepitaaaa, heeeey pretty kitty,” Rodrigo crooned, scratching behind a feline ear the size of his skull. “want to give me a lift back to my place, beautiful girl? Caprice stayed home tonight, I need to get back before she starts wondering about me.”

Pepita’s thundering purr rolled as she got to her feet and drooped a wing to the floor, allowing Rodrigo to clamber up onto her back.

“Look Quique, you seem like a good kid.” Rodrigo called as Pepita padded to the huge open window nearby, “I’ll tell you what, since you’ve got a bone to pick with my father I’ll give you a once-in-an-afterlife offer, you can come crash at my place for a night if you ever decide to escape. Plaza Rivera, teal building, ground level. Give it up with el espectro now, Papi’s not going to let you anywhere near him.”

“But how do I-?”

Enrique startled as Pepita dropped out of the window, taking a waving Rodrigo down the skyscraper height drop with her.

A moment later he saw them rise in the distance, already flying far, far away on glowing wings.

Enrique watched them disappear into the distant skyline, still holding tightly to the glass Rodrigo had handed him, feeling suddenly as if he had been abandoned somewhere dangerous.

“Was that tonto giving you trouble?”

Enrique jumped, looking over to see that a skeleton in a sharp business suit with a glowing squirrel perched on his shoulder had joined him and was glaring out the window. Héctor Junior, the second youngest child in the family.

“I don’t know why Coco and Leti insist on him attending our gatherings,” Héctor Junior said, his voice as cold as a terminal diagnosis. “all he does is bother the people who actually care about the family.”

“He wasn’t bothering me.” Enrique said automatically, but then froze as Héctor Junior’s stiff gaze turned to him.

“Then what were you two doing?” Héctor Junior asked, his squirrel alebrije chattering as it stared Enrique down with its beady fuchsia eyes.

Enrique tried to bite his non-existent lip for the second time that day as he thought fast. Perhaps disclosing his sympathies with the family pariah wasn’t the smartest thing he could do right now.

Especially not with the mad plan beginning to form in the back of his head.

“Well, actually he was bothering me,” Enrique said, pulling at the hem of his wine-stained shirt with an angry sigh. “But he flew off when I tried to talk to him about it.”

Héctor Junior snorted unkindly, taking a sip of champagne from the fluted glass he carried. “Yes, he does that. Ruy is forever flying away from his responsibilities.”

“Well I’m glad he’s gone,” Enrique said, cringing internally even as he laid it on thick. “he was saying awful things about the family.”

“You’ll find that afterlife without the family mistake is much preferable.” Héctor Junior said, looking at him approvingly. He extended his hand. “Héctor the Second, now that we’ve officially met. You can call me Tio Héctor.”

“It’s good to finally meet you in person.” Enrique said, shaking his hand and resisting the urge to wipe his own handbones on his pant leg afterward. “You’ve left quite a legacy in the family with the Rivera Zapatos Corporation.”

“Yes, I suppose I have.” Héctor Junior said smugly, “Teaming up to work with Tio Felipe y Oscar was certainly one of my most brilliant moment in life. You know, it was when-”

“I just remembered,” Enrique said quickly, cutting off what he already could tell was going to be a very long story. “Papá Héctor asked me to meet him at Miguel’s room and I’ve completely forgotten the directions he gave me. This place is so big, do you know how to get to Miguel’s room from here?”

“It’s on the second floor.” Héctor Junior said, swiftly recovering from his obvious disappointment at being interrupted. “If you go down that hallway and up the grand staircase it should lead you to an atrium. Past that is the second hallway, I think his room is one of those doors, I do know it’s right next to my parent’s room. Pobre nino, I hear he still gets nightmares about his death, Papá keeps him close by so he can help.”

Enrique desperately wanted to curl up and die again at that last part (Nightmares for twenty years? Now he knew something was wrong.) but he kept his business smile on, grateful that years of dealing with overbearing press and slimy business partners had prepared him for situations like this. He had to be strong if he was going to help his son, he had to keep it together if his insane plan was going to work.

“Muchas gracias, Tio Héctor.” Enrique said, nodding, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find a new shirt before my meeting.”

“That does seem appropriate.” Héctor said with a smirk, “Welcome to the family Enrique, I hope you settle in well.”

“Gracias.” Enrique nodded, then turned and made his way deep into the crowd as quickly as he could. Away from that man.

Enrique dodged between well-wishing family members, politely smiling off their advances, excusing himself over and over. So many skeletal faces, some he vaguely recognized, many he didn’t, but now he couldn't help feeling like he really was in a zoo, just like Rodrigo has suggested.

Something was very wrong, even if no one else seemed to realize it. Enrique needed to get his son and get him out, just for a little while, a day or two, long enough to actually connect again with Miguel without a crowd looking on.

Enrique ducked down the hallway that Héctor Junior had pointed out, his forced smile dropping as soon as he was out of sight.

There was a very good chance he was overreacting. Maybe he should wait, give it a couple days to let himself adjust before charging into a situation that he knew he didn’t fully understand.

Luisa would probably tell him to be patient.

But Luisa wouldn’t want him to leave their son a moment longer than he had to, not in this state.

Enrique sent up a quick prayer, crossing himself as he headed towards what had to be the grand staircase Héctor Junior had mentioned. If Papá Héctor had just put Miguel to bed then that meant Miguel would be alone once Héctor went back down to the party. That gave Enrique a brief window of time to get to Miguel before Héctor noticed he was missing from the crowd.

Enrique had no idea what would happen if he were caught, but if worst came to worst, Miguel was still  _his_  son. How much trouble could he really be in legally?

Enrique shook his head as he quietly climbed the stairs, keeping his hands close to himself after hearing the clacking sound they made against the stone railing.

He would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, all he knew was that he had to get to Miguel. For the first time in decades his son was within his reach, for the first time years he knew where he was.

Enrique grit his teeth and picked up his pace. Nothing was going to keep him away from Miguel, not now.

He was going to do  _whatever_  it took to get his son back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now you’ve all gone and done it and goaded me into writing an actual story with all your brilliant tumblr asks. Hope you’re all quite pleased with yourselves.
> 
> \- Wit
> 
> im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com


	8. Flashback: Last Night on Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Couples that clean blood off of each other are couples that stay together.”
> 
> Small flashback to when Hector and Imelda were alive, based off a prompt from my Tumblr. 
> 
> The next full chapter of the main storyline will be coming in the next day or two.
> 
> Also this Fic now has it's very own TV Tropes page! It's a real treat I was very excited to see, so go check it out.
> 
> http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/WhateverItTakes

“Hector!“ Imelda cried, nearly dropping her bag in shock as she stepped into Hector’s dressing room. “What happened?“

Hector looked up from where he was scrubbing his arms in the tiny sink near the vanity. He had soap suds all the way up to his elbows, which was doing nothing for the dirt and grime and  _blood_  that covered his face and clothing. It couldn’t all be his own, there seemed to be a cut across his cheek, but she hadn’t seen this kind of blood since…well, since the night he’d left to  _take care of something_ without telling her.

“It’s a bit gruesome isn’t it?“ Hector chuckled, continuing to scrub his arms, the water in the sink a grimy pink as it twisted down the drain.

“Gruesome?” Imelda cried, setting her purse on a nearby couch and shrugging off her expensive gown jacket. “Hector, I know you said you had a busy schedule today, but we have to leave for the gala dinner in ten minutes!“

“Lo siento Imelda, I tried seeing if I could move it to another day, but it didn’t work out.“ Hector said, grimacing apologetically as he allowed Imelda to unbutton his destroyed shirt and pull it off over his still sudsy arms, tossing it into a nearby wastebasket. “I completely lost track of time.“

“Well tell that to the mayor.“ Imelda said irritably, grabbing a damp washcloth and starting to scrub at his face. 

Luckily the makeup artist that had gotten Hector ready for today’s war film shoot seemed to have done their job well, and the fake wounds and blood and grime on Hector’s face came off easily. 

“I’ll just tell him I was fighting the Mexican Revolution.“ Hector laughed, “the set was amazing today Imelda, it really looked like a real war zone!“

“Your hair is the real war zone.“ Imelda said, grabbing a comb from the vanity and attacking Hector’s hair, which had been stylized to match whatever war hero he was playing in his current film. “As soon as I’m done get the rest of your costume off and get into a suit, there’s no time for you to shower.“

“Si, I will.“ Hector said, drying his hands and arms off on a towel as he bent over slightly so Imelda could reach his hair. “You know, everything on set looks so realistic, but they always get the bodies wrong. The actors that are supposed to be dead are always in comfortable looking positions, you know, like if they’ve just lain down for a nap or something, not like they’ve actually just  _died_.“

“Well, you can’t expect everyone to know what a corpse actually looks like.“ Imelda chided, in no mood for small talk. “And they always get ridiculous with the blood, I wish they’d stop making you quite so torn up in all these battle shots.“

“Well, you have to admit it’s a lot easier cleanup than normal.“ Hector smiled, catching her off-guard as he leaned in for a quick kiss.

“And you’re very lucky that it is.“ Imelda said, pulling away from the kiss and swatting his shoulder, but smiling despite herself. “Now get changed, I left the car running with the valet.“

“I’ll only be a minute.“ Hector promised, kissing her forehead before walking over to his wardrobe. 

“Remember, we have to go take care of that lawyer between the gala and the hospital wing dedication ceremony,” Imelda said, walking back to the couch to pull on her dress jacket and have a seat as Hector changed. “we’re on a tight schedule tonight.“ 

“That’s right, the cigar smoker that’s getting too nosey. We decided on arson, si?” Hector asked, pulling on a fresh set of pants.

“It should only take a few minutes, the whole house has ridiculously flammable curtains.“ Imelda said, rifling through her purse. She could have sworn she’d had extra lipstick with her. “And then we’ll have to hurry to the dedication, it’s the perfect time window, everyone will think we came straight from the gala.“

“Good, that sounds perfect.“ Hector nodded, pulling on a dress jacket over his new shirt. 

Imelda caught him pausing, just for a moment, before picking up the black armband from a shelf and slipping it on over his sleeve. Imelda bit her lip, looking down at her own black dress. It had been months since Rodrigo’s death, and the sting of it was only just beginning to fade, but at least Hector’s regret seemed to be turning into normal grief. It was better that way.

“Ready to go?“ Imelda asked, standing and picking up her bag.

“Ready as I can be.“ Hector said, walking over and taking her bag, slipping it over his own shoulder to carry for her, then opening the dressing room door with a bow.

“Gracias.“ Imelda said, resisting the urge to run her fingers through his freshly combed hair as she swept out the door. 

They were going to have a busy night, they both needed to be as presentable as possible.


	9. Decision

Héctor looked back into Miguel’s bedroom one more time before quietly closing the door behind him.

It had taken an unusually long time to settle Miguel tonight, Héctor had had to use every trick and ritual he’d learned over the years. Humming and telling distracting stories. Allowing Miguel to get up and triple check all the doors in the room. Holding Miguel close until he slowly, slowly calmed enough to close his eyes during one of Héctor’s songs.

Now, nearly half an hour later, Héctor had finally managed to tuck him in for the night. Now he could make his way back to the ballroom, where Enrique would doubtlessly be waiting to shout at him again.

Héctor looked down to where Dante was sitting near the doorway, multicolored head tilted attentively.

“Guard the door.” Héctor said, reaching down to pet the dog’s head. “Make sure he sleeps well. We’ve got some new things to protect him from now.”

Dante whined softly, pushing his snout up against Héctor’s hand for another scratch behind the ears, then shook himself and took up his post in front of the door.

“Good boy.” Héctor said, watching his alebrije settle down on the floor.

None of the doors in Miguel’s room had any kind of locks, but Dante always did a good job of making sure Miguel was safe when Héctor wasn’t there, and alerting him if something was wrong.

Héctor gazed at the door for another long moment, then shook his head and turned, walking away down the hall.

He’d felt tense all day, ever since they’d gotten the call that morning from the Department of Family Reunions to notify them that Enrique had arrived.

Héctor had known that of course it was only a matter of time before one of Miguel’s old parents died, but he’d secretly been hoping that they’d still have at least another decade or so of comfortable routine ahead of them before having to deal with it.

Héctor absently reached out to touch a low-hanging metal palm frond as he walked through the atrium, letting his fingers tap against the metal plants he passed by them. He’d been dead so long he’d forgotten what real trees felt like. Softer, probably.

He paused as he reached the top of the grand staircase. The quiet gurgling of an indoor waterfall chuckled in the background as he tried to pull his thought together before he descended back to the party downstairs.

Things with Enrique were already off to a bad start. Héctor hadn’t expected him to get worked up so quickly over just  _seeing_  Miguel, and frankly it was rather disappointing. Couldn’t Enrique tell how fragile Miguel was? Couldn’t he see that making demands would only put him at risk? Héctor had spent decades caring for the boy, he and Miguel had routines, habits, rituals, and Enrique was already trying to overturn all of it.

Not to mention the mess that could arise if Enrique were to upset Miguel enough to learn how he’d  _really_  died. Enrique was family, but it was impossible to tell this early on how he would handle a revelation like that.

Judging by what Héctor had already seen, not well.

It would be better for both Miguel and the family as a whole if Enrique was kept away from Miguel as much as possible, certainly not allowed to be with him alone. It didn’t matter if Enrique was angry, this was still Héctor’s house and family, and Miguel was still his charge. As long as he still had Miguel he’d do whatever he had to to keep him safe, especially from Enrique.

Héctor nodded to himself and squared his shoulders as he descended the stone steps.

It was still a good night, everyone was still safe. As long as Enrique behaved himself nothing unfortunate would have to be done. If Héctor played his cards right then Enrique would never even have the opportunity to mess up, everyone could stay happy.

He walked down the hallway at the bottom of the steps and smiled as he re-entered to ballroom, throwing himself into the welcome task of greeting and hugging and laughing with his descendants as he rejoined the crowd.

He felt himself relax a little with each grandchild and relation he talked to, letting himself soak up the warmth of family as he slowly worked his way towards the center of the room.

“There you are.”

Héctor smiled as a familiar hand slid up his back. He turned to see Imelda, who was still wearing the lovely dark purple dress she’d worn at the charity event earlier.

“I was right behind you when we got home,” Imelda said, reaching up to adjust his charro tie, “but I started talking with Sophia and then you were gone.”

“I was just putting Miguel to bed,” Héctor said, “We saw Enrique a little sooner than I expected, Miguel didn’t take it well.”

“We expected as much.” Imelda frowned, the tiny amethyst jewels set in the markings under her eyes glinting. “I’m sorry, I should have been there to help manage it, we always knew this was going to be a delicate situation. How was it for Enrique?”

“It was disgusting.”

Héctor turned to see the young woman who had joined them. Her black hair was strangled back into a bun and her glasses perched in front of an icily disdainful gaze.

“Victoria,” Héctor smiled and pulled his granddaughter into a side-hug with one arm. “how are you tonight?”

She was stiff, but didn’t pull away, the Victoria equivalent of enthusiastically throwing her arms around his neck. Héctor was the only person other than her parents allowed to touch her, a trust that had been hard-earned.

They’d always been close in life, his little ever-serious Victoria joining him to watch his grown-up soap operas, or staying up for long, late-night discussions at the kitchen table about whatever she pleased. She’d even accompanied him a few times on his international trips when Coco would let him steal her away for a week or two.

Victoria had been the grandchild he’d missed the most when he’d died, his little shadow who’d always had an endearingly serious opinion ever since she’d learned to talk. He’d especially missed Victoria after discovering that his own daughter Leti didn’t need a Papá anymore in the afterlife, that she’d moved on long ago and had grown up in her own way with her own social circles.  

But he’d still been devastated when Victoria died only a few years later. No one had wanted that. She’d arriving a damaged and jittery mess that he’d had to put back together almost single handedly, she’d been nearly rabid towards anyone who’d gotten too close, other than her abuelito.

And after what she’d been through, no one could blame her.

“Enrique was dangerously emotional.” Victoria continued, bony arms still folded. “He shouted at Papá Héctor. He’s going to cause trouble, I can already tell.”

“He’s only just died today, he’s still adjusting.” Héctor said, kissing the top of her head. “Miguel’s situation is unsettling for him, of course he’s going to be emotional.”

“You should deal with him before he’s a threat.” Victoria said, looking up at him, her eighteen-year-old eyes communicating every bit of her more than forty years of experience. “It will be easiest while he’s still unsteady, it’ll only be harder once he settles in and starts making allies.”

“You say this about every new family member, mija.” Imelda said patiently, “We already knew Enrique would be more difficult, we’ll handle it.”

“He’s going to do something stupid, he has a stupid kind of face.” Victoria said flatly.

“I won’t let anything bad happen, mija.” Héctor said, ignoring the ugly shiver that ran through him. Dealing with outside threats was easy, dealing with family was…complicated. “Not to Miguel, not to you, I promise.”

Victoria hissed a sigh, but said nothing.

“Where is Enrique anyways?” Héctor said, looking around. “I told him I’d talk to him when I got back.”

“Coco probably took him to his own room.” Imelda said. “It’s his first day, he’s probably exhausted.”

“He’s going to be trouble.” Victoria said.

“The new episodes of _No Digas Que No_  will be on tonight,” Héctor said, rubbing her arm affectionately before releasing her from the side hug. “are you feeling up to watching them with me?”

It always took her months to trust anyone new in the house, but she would settle eventually if Héctor could keep her occupied.

“Fine.” Victoria said, but she absently scraped her thumb against her cheekbone, meaning she was still upset.

“I’ll meet you in the projector room in an hour, alright?” Héctor prodded. “I’ll make sure the bar is stocked with cola.”

“Fine.” Victoria repeated, her expression flat as she drifted away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

“It seems everyone’s feeling a little high-strung tonight.” Imelda said, slipping her hand into his.

“A night’s rest will be good for everyone.” Héctor said, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “We need to talk to Enrique first thing tomorrow morning, set some boundaries when Miguel’s not in the room.”

“He’s not going to be happy about it.” Imelda said, leaning against him.

“Miguel’s wellbeing comes first.” Héctor said firmly. “I’m not going to let Enrique undo years of effort by barging in and trying to take him back.”

“No one’s trying to take anyone, mi vida.” Imelda said gently, tipping his chin so that he looked down at her. “You just said yourself that he’s still adjusting. I’m sure when he’s settled in he’ll want what’s best for Miguel, just like we do. As long as Enrique stays in line we need to be as kind as we can, alienating him this early on will only make things more complicated. He’ll come to terms with it eventually, we just need to take it slow.”

“Sí, of course, mi amor.” Héctor sighed and kissed her hand, trying to let go of the tense feeling that had been hanging over him all day. “We’ll take it slow.”

He couldn’t help glancing back towards the stairs again before allowing Imelda to pull him away. Everything was fine. Miguel was safe in bed, and Dante would come and get him in an instant if anything were to go wrong.

As long as Enrique obeyed the rules, Héctor wouldn’t have to anything unpleasant.

***

Enrique shivered as he crouched behind the collection of metal palm trees in the atrium, watching silently as Papá Héctor paused at the top of the grand staircase for a long moment, and then finally began descending the steps.

He was two minutes into his rescue-Miguel mission and it had already nearly ended in disaster. Papá Héctor had even absently reached out to touch one of the fake leaves of the very tree Enrique had been hiding behind as he walked past.

Enrique sat frozen, waiting several minutes after Papá Héctor had disappeared before shakily emerging from his hiding place.

He knew for a  _fact_  that he didn’t have lungs anymore, but his breath was still shaky as he quickly made his way through the atrium. This was stupid, he wasn’t some secret agent, he was a middle-aged father who had just  _died_. He had to get Miguel and get out before anything got worse.

He turned down the hallway and was met by the sight of several doorways. All identical, except for one that had an alebrije dog curled up in front of it. Enrique hadn’t seen it downstairs, but it looked far less frightening than the massive jaguar he’d seen earlier.

He carefully approached the dog, letting his shoes scuff against the marble floor to keep from startling it when he got close. It looked a lot like the stray Xolos he was used to seeing at home.

Maybe it would be as friendly?

The dog’s head jerked up as he got closer and it sprang to its feet, stiffly lowering its head. Its teeth weren’t bared yet, but a warning growl began to percolate in the back of its throat, its small glowing wings half raised.

Enrique grimaced, stopping where he was.

He didn’t have much experience with dogs, the closet they’d ever gotten to having a dog in the house had been years ago when Miguel had begged to adopt a stray off the streets, a dog that had looked just like this one.

Enrique squinted at the growling dog, actually, it had looked  _exactly_ like this one. What had Miguel called it all those years ago? Diego? Dario?

“Dante?” Enrique tried.

To his surprise the dog’s growl turned to a whine and it tilted its head. It was still standing stiffly, but now looking like it was…listening?

When Rodrigo had talked to the jaguar earlier and it had seemed to know what he was saying, maybe alribrijes were smarter than normal animals.

“I, uh, I’m looking for Miguel?” Enrique said, trying to speak clearly, feeling a little ridiculous. “Do you know where he is?”

Dante’s growl came back and he backed up against the door defensively.

Well, at least he knew he was at the right door then.

“No, no, it’s alright, I’m his Papá.” Enrique said, glancing over his shoulder nervously. What if someone heard the growling? What did you even say to calm down a dog anyway?

“Dante, please, I don’t know if you’re Miguel’s spirit guide, but I think you might be?” Enrique said, trying not to sound desperate, “I don’t know if you understand me or not, I only died today, I don’t know how these things work, but there’s something wrong with Miguel. You knew him when he was alive, you know he didn’t used to be this way. I think I can help him, but for me to help him I need you to help me. I need you to trust me boy, I need to get Miguel out of here.”

Enrique watched as Dante shifted back and forth from paw to paw, watching him and whining, as if unsure. Enrique wanted desperately to just rush past the dog, but who knew what would happen if he made it angry.

Dante let out a huff of breath and stepped to the side, still looking wary, but no longer forbidding.

“Muchas gracias.” Enrique said, cautiously stepping forward.

He hesitated, looking to Dante again for permission. When the dog only watched him Enrique went ahead and opened the bedroom door.

The bedroom inside was dimly lit by a small lamp, a large four poster bed looming in the middle of the room. As he got closer he saw a small skeleton tucked in under the covers.

The sight making him shiver and he stepped back, realizing that the sight was too close to nightmares he’d had of Miguel before.

He took a deep breath and a long moment to stare at his own skeletal hand, reminding himself that everyone here was dead, including himself. Miguel still needed his help, he still needed his Papá.

Enrique looked down at his sleeping son, a new fear presenting itself in his mind.

What if Miguel didn’t want to come with him?

What if Miguel had been alone with Héctor so long that he didn’t remember his life anymore? What if he started screaming or struggling when he woke him up, what if he ran to go Héctor?

What would Enrique do if Miguel rejected him?

A tired feeling settled over Enrique as he watched Miguel sleep, twenty years of fear and pain turning into doubt. Maybe losing Miguel really had been permanent. Maybe Papá Héctor was right and he should keep his distance.

He didn’t know how this worked, he barely even knew how dying worked. Maybe he really wasn’t Miguel’s father anymore and he should leave him be while they were both still safe within the rules.

Enrique was trying desperately to imagine what Luisa would say when Miguel opened his eyes.

Enrique froze, bracing himself for the worst as Miguel’s eyes widened and he propped himself up in bed, their eyes meeting for the first time.

Miguel recognized him, Enrique could tell, Miguel knew who he was.

“Miguel,” Enrique said, his heart aching as memories came flooding back to him. It had been so long. “Miguel, it’s alright, it’s me.”

Enrique had been prepared for Miguel to scream, had even been prepared for him say nothing, but he hadn’t been prepared for him to cry.

Miguel’s breathing started coming short and fast, turning into gasps like he couldn’t breathe. His small shaking hands gripped the blankets and tears began running down his face as he began to cry, a strangled whimpering noise.

Some small part of Enrique’s brain was stunned to see  _Miguel_  having a panic attack, but it was quickly overwhelmed by his fatherly instinct as Miguel’s panicked breathing worsened.

“Hey, hey, hey, Miguel, it’s alright!” Enrique sat on the bed and scooped up the overwhelmed boy, holding him protectively. He didn’t know what he was doing, if this was the right thing to do, but every fatherly fiber in his body was screaming for him to make it better, to comfort his son. “You don’t have to be scared, it’s alright, breathe. Just breathe.”

Miguel curled up against Enrique, gasping for air as he fretfully tugged at his own hair, completely breaking Enrique’s heart as he choked back his own tears.

“It’s alright, nothing is going to hurt you, you’re safe.” Enrique said, forcing his voice to be as steady as possible as he gently rubbed Miguel’s back, his fingers skipping over the small vertebrae under Miguel’s red silk pajamas.

Maybe the panic attack had been triggered by seeing someone who wasn’t Papá Héctor come into the room. Maybe it had been overwhelming for Miguel to see him close up with no warning after so many years.

Worst of all, Enrique now knew that there were definitelyunknown factors at play. Something truly terrible had to have happened to Miguel over the last twenty years to reduce him to this.

It took several minutes of quiet talking and reassuring before Miguel’s breathing was steady again. Eventually Miguel was quiet, trembling slightly and staring into space as Enrique held him close.

Any doubt in Enrique’s mind was long gone now. Miguel was damaged, that much was excruciatingly clear, he was scared and overwhelmed, but Miguel wasn’t scared of  _him_. He hadn’t said a word, but Enrique knew Miguel recognized him, even if it seemed to confuse him.

It was going to be a long road, but if Miguel knew who he was then they could get through this together, he could help Miguel sort things out and recover.

But not if Papá Héctor kept them apart.

“Miguel, we’re going to go on a little trip.” Enrique said, helping Miguel sit up on the bed. He had to phrase it gently, he couldn’t risk triggering another panic. “We’re going to go somewhere else for a little bit so we can spend some time together, does that sound alright?”

Miguel’s gaze darted to the door behind him and a sharp chill ran through Enrique. He looked at the door, but it was still closed.

“Papá Héctor’s not coming with us this time.” Enrique said, guessing at what he might be thinking.

“I- I have to stay with Papá.” Miguel said, his eyes wide, “I can’t leave.”

“Miguel,  _I’m_  your Papá.” Enrique said, his voice cracking painfully. So he could talk after all. “Papá Héctor is your abuelito, not your Papá. We need to get going, alright? Do you have some clothes you can get changed into?”

Miguel looked away, saying nothing, slipping back into his silence.

Well, alright then. Enrique could work with the silence.

He just had to work quickly.

“You can stay in your pajamas if you like.” Enrique said, taking Miguel’s hand and gently coaxing him off the bed. He had no idea how long they had until someone realized he was missing from downstairs, but it couldn’t be very long now. “We’re going to be meeting someone and we can’t be late.”

Miguel nodded blankly, automatically slipping on a pair of shoes by the side of his bed, then standing very close to Enrique, still holding his hand, as if waiting for instruction. Just like Enrique had seen him act around Papá Héctor earlier that night.

If Enrique had any say in the matter, Miguel would lose this terrifyingly un-Miguel silent shadow act as quickly as possible, he wanted his lively chatty son back, but for now at least it would make their escape that much easier.

“Alright.” Enrique led him to the door, but then hesitated, a glaring flaw in his plan suddenly becoming painfully obvious.

He looked down at his son. “Uh, Miguel, we need to get to the trolley station, but we need to go out a back way. Do you know a back door out of this place?”

There was a long, a painfully long pause. Miguel didn’t look up at him, only clinging tightly to his hand.

Enrique carefully opened the bedroom door, nervously glancing out to check the hallway was empty before pulling Miguel out after him. Dante was still sitting watchfully, he whined and his tail wagged once when he saw Miguel, who barely looked at him.

“Well.” Enrique said, painfully at a loss as he scrambled to think. “I guess we could-”

Miguel tugged at his hand. Only once, but Enrique noticed.

He looked down. Miguel was still staring at nothing, avoiding eye contact, but he’d definitely pulled at Enrique’s hand. In the opposite direction of the party downstairs.

“That way?” Enrique asked.

No response.

“Alright, we’ll give it a try.” Enrique said, setting off with Miguel silently in tow, Dante trotting quietly beside them.

They met no one as they walked down the long, long hallway. When they reached a fork in the path Miguel gently tugged to the left, making Enrique sigh in relief before going left, now more confident. Miguel was still in there and he was still thinking, even if he wasn’t able to respond normally for now.

Right, right, left, right, down a flight of stairs, left again, and then they were standing by a set of metal grate doors. An old-timey elevator by the looks of it.

Miguel stared at a button on a wall panel until Enrique pushed it, and the grate doors opened with a clatter. Enrique led Miguel inside and hovered his hands over each button on the panel until he got a slight nudge from Miguel, then pressed it.

The doors rattled shut and the floor outside began to rise, or rather, they began to descend. Enrique realized that Dante had chosen to stay outside the elevator, watching them quietly as they dropped out of sight.

“Good boy Dante, thank you.” Enrique called softly as they slipped downward.

He wasn’t sure why the dog hadn’t come with them. He could only hope and pray that it wouldn’t be able to track them down later if Héctor asked it to.

A few minutes of descending later, the back doors of the elevator opened and they stepped out into the street outside.

Enrique took a deep breath of the warm night air and stared up in wonder at the night sky above them. A surreal ambient teal and periwinkle haze amid the light pollution of centuries and millennia of looming architecture.

When Mamá Coco had brought him to the mansion via trolley he’d been too busy staring at the other skeletal passengers to pay attention to the sights outside their car, but now he was realizing for the first time how oppressively large and foreign the Land of the Dead was.

There really was a whole world on the other side of death. Which…he’d known?

Kind of?

As Enrique stared at the ethereal skyline he suddenly felt very very small, and very very tired.

He had died that morning.

It felt like he’d somehow forgotten that until now.

Which he couldn’t have, there were far too many reminders everywhere he looked, every time he touched something and heard the clacking of bones, but a slightly dizzy feeling was beginning to creep into the back of his skull as he stared at the Land of the Dead in all its overwhelming reality.

A small tug broke him out of his thoughts. He looked down to see Miguel watching him. It may have been his imagination, but Miguel looked concerned.

“Lo siento, mijo.” Enrique said, rubbing his forehead. He didn’t have a clue how his boney body worked, but he was learning very quickly that the dead could get stress headaches. “I’m just, I’m still new and it’s a lot to take in.”

Miguel stared at him, then gave a small nod. Miguel held tightly to his hand as they both looked at the cityscape soaring above and around them.

Enrique tried to push back the intensely lost feeling that was beginning to creep over him, along with the rising fatigue. The night wasn’t over yet and they still had to get as far away from Papá Héctor as they could before he realized they were both missing.

Enrique didn’t know how Papá Héctor would react, but from what he’d already seen, it wouldn’t be good.

“Alright mijo, do you know the way to the trolley station?” Enrique asked, trying to look confident and in charge as passersby glanced curiously at Miguel’s pajamas.

There was a long pause, and then a small tug to the right.

“Right it is.” Enrique said, leading them across the cobblestones and away from the mansion tower, Miguel clinging to his side.

He hadn’t been paying close attention during his ride with Mamá Coco, but he did remember her pointing out Plaza Rivera during their trip. It was a long ride ahead of them, but if he could get them there in one piece then at least they would be somewhere safe that they could rest.

Enrique could only hope that Tio Rodrigo had been serious when he’d offered to let him stay over.

***

“Now arriving at Plaza Rivera.” announced the trolley speaker. “Please be sure to collect all your personal item before exiting the trolley car.”

Enrique jolted, pushing back again at the overwhelming tiredness he’d been struggling with the entire ride.

“Miguel, this is our stop.” He said gently, shaking him awake.

Miguel had fallen asleep in his lap only a few minutes into the ride, which perhaps had been for the best, letting Enrique explain away their odd looking situation to curious passengers.  _He was having trouble sleeping, he has insomnia and the trolley always puts him to sleep._

Miguel was stirring sluggishly as the trolley doors opened, so Enrique gently picked him up and carried him out onto the trolley platform outside before they missed their stop.

Plaza Rivera was large and mostly empty, a quiet cobblestone expanse with a large fountain quietly flowing and gurgling in the middle. The kind of space that felt like it was patiently waiting for some kind of event, even if it wasn’t happening today.

“We’re almost there.” Enrique promised, setting Miguel down. “Just a bit further and then you can sleep.”

Teal, ground floor. That’s what Tio Rodrigo had said.

Enrique led Miguel along as they walked through the plaza, looking this way and that in search of teal stucco or painted brick among the overly colorful architecture.

After winding their way down several side streets Enrique was beginning to panic, but then finally spotted it. A ground floor flat with teal siding. He had no way of knowing for sure if it was the right place, but they were about to find out.

As they got closer Enrique realized the front door was slightly ajar, letting the loud music playing inside trickle into the street. The stoop was littered with empty bottles of all varieties and labels, an extremely well used ashtray (ash trough really) was shoved to one corner. Judging by the number of cigarettes and cigars snuffed out in it, at least a dozen different people had used it recently, it looked more like it belonged in a club than at a private apartment.

Enrique nearly turned back, this had to be the wrong place, but he felt like he was about to fall over and Miguel needed somewhere to sleep too. He took a deep breath and rapped his knuckles on the slightly ajar door, causing it to swing in a bit more. The loud music inside came out even more strongly, some vaguely familiar old pop music Enrique was too tired to recognize, something English.

“Door’s open.” A voice called over the music.

Enrique hesitated, but he’d recognized Rodrigo’s voice. He pushed open the door open, pulling Miguel inside and closing it behind them, grateful at least to finally be inside. Enrique looked around and blinked as a blast of color, sound and smell washed over him.

Frat house.

That was the exact phrase that came to mind.

The apartment actually seemed to be more of a suite, with a vaulted ceiling and wide glass patio doors. What he could see of the furniture looked very high end and expensive, but it all was all well buried under a layer of clutter, exactly the kind of extensive junk collection that a student in a college music program might accumulate over seventy years or so.

Record players, walkmans, a PlayStation system hooked up to a flat screen. Dirty clothes, empty champagne bottles, discarded dishes resting on top of instrument cases. Empty shot glasses everywhere, the heavy smell of incense wreathing the entire apartment, and  _everything_  under a thick, shifting layer of loose sheet music in various stages of disrepair.

And in the middle of it all, between the half-buried grand piano and the classical marble statute that had coats draped all over it, was a glowing feathered horse nestled amid the junk. Laying against her side was Rodrigo, an open book covering his face as he leaned back, several empty bottles on the floor beside him.

“No party tonight.” Rodrigo called from under the book. “Shop’s closed.”

“I’d like to take you up on your offer to stay over.” Enrique said, even though he was already reconsidering. Sleeping on the street wasn’t sounding so bad after this place.

“Whoa, Quique?” Rodrigo said, pulling the book off his face and blinking hard. His eyes were even more bloodshot and dazed than they’d been a couple hours ago. “So you got away after a-”

His book hit the floor with a thud as his gaze locked on Miguel.

“No.” Rodrigo said, trying and failing to scramble to his feet. He tried again, only succeeding when the horse alebrije helped nudge him upright. “Get out. Get  _out_.”                  

“Por Favor, Tio Rodrigo.” Enrique said tiredly, leaning against the wall as another wave of fatigue washed over him. His body was forcefully reminding him that he had  _died_  earlier that day, apparently crippling exhaustion was a side effect. “I have permission, Papá Héctor said I could have him for a couple days.”

“You’re lying and you’re going to send us both to hell.” Rodrigo growled, stumbling his way over through the junk and pulling the front door open, “Papi never lets el espectro out of his sight, I don’t know what you’ve done, but I’ve worked too hard to stay away from this family. Get out.”

Enrique didn’t have the time or energy to argue, he could feel himself sagging against the wall. He didn’t have a backup plan, they really were going to end up on the streets.

“Tio Rodrigo, please, I promise I had permission.” Dante had given him permission, hadn’t he? “I’m just as surprised as you are, but we need somewhere to stay, just for the night, we’re both tired. I promise we’ll be gone as soon as it’s morning.”

“I am not going to help you, do they know you’re here? I-”

Rodrigo was cut off by the strangest sound Enrique had ever heard, something that sounded like a cross between a whinny and a squawk.

They both looked over to where the feathered alebrije horse sat. Curled up against her downy chest was Miguel, who had slipped away from Enrique and was already fast asleep.

“Caprice,” Rodrigo said sternly, “we don’t even know them, they’re only going to bring trouble.”

The horse gave a clucking huff and shook its head, as if trying to shake off water.

“I don’t care if they’re tired, we’ve got our own problems.” Rodrigo said, which was met by a rough snort. He moaned, rubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve, his voice now pleading. “We can’t let them stay just because one of them likes you.”

The horse bent its neck protectively over Miguel’s sleeping form, letting out a stern hiss. Enrique saw that what he’d thought was a mane was actually a crest of iridescent yellow and green feathers down the animal’s neck, especially clear now that they were raising like an irritated cockatoo’s crest.  

“Fine!” Rodrigo said, kicking the door shut and throwing up his hands, “You don’t have to yell! Lo siento  _Señorita_ , sorry for trying to keep us out of trouble, stupid me.”

Caprice’s crest drifted back down and she flicked her head, softly whistling a chuckling noise that made her sound rather pleased with herself. She adjusted one of her scaly forelegs to tuck more securely under her, giving Miguel more room as he slept.

“Yeah well, you don’t have to be smart about it.” Rodrigo said sourly, pushing past Enrique and grabbing a jacket off the marble statue coat rack. “Alright Quique, you’re staying the night, but the  _instant_  the sun rises both of you are out, got it?”

“Muchas gracias,” Enrique said, already sliding down the wall to sit, the relief and overwhelming tiredness weighing down on him. He could probably fall asleep right on this stack of sheet music. “Thank you for your help.”

“I’m not helping you.” Rodrigo said.

He scooped up a small remote and shut off the stereo and lights with the push of a few buttons, leaving Caprice’s gentle multicolored glow the only light in the room. He tossed the jacket on top of Miguel like a blanket before settling back against Caprice’s side.

“First thing tomorrow, both of you are gone.” Rodrigo insisted. “I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear you. That kid is going to bring disaster the moment Papi knows he’s gone.”

Rodrigo said a few more things, but Enrique couldn’t quite make out what. He barely managed to collapse into a halfway comfortable position against the pile of sheet music before sleep overtook him.

He was so tired.

Tomorrow would have to wait until tomorrow.


	10. Bad History

****It wasn’t that Rodrigo _couldn’t_  get up before noon, it was just that he’d decided back when he was thirteen that he wasn’t an early riser.

Nothing wrong with that. He’d written award-winning concertos, conducted symphonies, and held seventy-two hour long parties, but sleeping away an entire day was still one of his most practical talents. After all, you only had to deal with as much day as you were awake for.

All these thoughts were clumsily mashing together in his head as he groggily stared at the clock hanging on the wall opposite of him, the digital display declaring that he, Rodrigo Rivera, had voluntarily awoken at the unholy hour of ten thirty-five am.

Which, judging by the raw pounding feeling in his skull, was inexcusably early.

He squinted at the clock for another long moment, then shut his eyes and turned to bury his face in the small feathers that covered Caprice’s side.

No good reason to stay awake was coming to mind, and if there was a good reason it was probably lost in the ever-present post-alcohol haze in his head. Hangovers weren’t as bad in the Land of the Dead as he remembered them being in the land of the living, but Rodrigo compensated by drinking far more than would normally be humanly possible.

He groaned as Caprice shifted slightly under him, feeling her soft nose nudging his shoulder.

“Not now.” Rodrigo said, blindly pushing her nose away, “Too early.”

He yelped as her nudging turned into an unceremonious shove and he slid off her side, soundly whacking his head on something. Rodrigo pushed himself up, squinting and rubbing his head, glaring at the offending record player he’d hit.

“Preese, what was that?” He whined, squinting through his headache.

He jolted, seeing that he was being watched. A little boy in red silk pajamas was standing by Caprice’s head, silently staring at him. El espectro, his father’s little dead ghost.

“Geez, kid.” Rodrigo stumbled to his feet, grimacing as the events of the night before slowly began filtered back to him. “Do me a favor and tone down the creepiness, alright?”

He expected the boy to keep on staring him down, but to his surprise the kid ducked his head, stepping behind Caprice and putting his arms around her neck. She looked up at Rodrigo with disappointed annoyance.

“Watching people sleep _is_  creepy.” Rodrigo said defensively, rubbing the back of his neck.

He hovered for a moment, unsure what to do with the three-way staredown. He rolled his eyes with a sigh. Well, he was up, he might as well kick them out and make some suero for his hangover.

He glanced over his shoulder as he walked towards the kitchen, automatically stepping over and around piles of junk as he went. All he’d ever seen of el espectro was from afar, and he’d always looked as lifeless as his own father’s smile. Having his father’s accessory in his own house was unnerving, no matter how huffy Caprice was.

Rodrigo looked around for Enrique and spotted an unconscious form by the front door. He grimaced to see his sobrino slumped over a pile of sheet music in a position that Rodrigo knew from experience was going to leave him wincing when he woke up.

“Alright, Quique.” Rodrigo said, picking his way over to the door. “Time to get up, alright? Time for you to clear out with the kid.”

He pulled Enrique up into a limp sitting position, but there way no response, Enrique’s head lolling forward, completely dead asleep.

Dead asleep. Rodrigo would have to remember that joke for later when the freeloader woke up.

“He died yesterday, didn’t he.” Rodrigo said, rubbing his forehead as Caprice came up behind him. “Forgot about that.”

Caprice rested her large head over his shoulder and he gently scratched her downy cheek as he contemplated his passed out sobrino.

Freshies, the freshly dead, spent a lot of time sleeping, and Enrique hadn’t exactly taken it easy yesterday. It would be nice if Rodrigo could shake him awake so he could throw him out, but he knew better than anyone how hard it was to wake someone who just wasn’t going to be woke until they were good and ready. Sure didn’t make things easier though.

“Papi’s gonna come for them Preece, we can’t keep them here.” Rodrigo said, leaning against Caprice’s head. “The  _one_  time I give out my address to family, and this is where it gets me. If we’re smart we’ll throw them out now anyway and move to one of our other apartments while we’ve still got the chance.”

Caprice huffed, nearly knocking him forward with a shove of her foreleg.

“I was kidding, I was just kidding!” Rodrigo lied, shoving her head away. “But don’t get mad at me when this blows up in our faces.” He slung one of Enrique’s arms over his shoulder and hoisted him up, there was a couch in the back room he kept around for unconscious guests he could dump him on.

Caprice’s feathered crest flattened tightly, making her look supremely unimpressed as she watched him drag Enrique to a back room. Rodrigo dumped him on the couch where he might be a little more comfortable. If no one had come for them yet then they were probably safe to keep around a little longer. But that didn’t mean that Rodrigo liked it one bit.

“You know,” Rodrigo said, patting Caprice’s side as he passed her on the way to the kitchen. He looked down to see that the kid had attached himself to her leg again. “We could just leave them here, and then we can leave. Then they aren’t on the streets, and we’re on the other side of town.”

Caprice tossed her head with a sharp chirp, leading her new adopted child into the kitchen behind him.

“Youuu don’t haaaave to beeeee so  _stubborn_.” Rodrigo half sang, glowering as he banged open a cabinet. He forced himself not to wince at the noise in order to preserve his credibility. He was a full grown man and he wasn’t being pushed around by a horse, he was just choosing to follow her advice was all.    

He tried his best to ignore the kid quietly watching him from the corner while he made his suero, pouring mineral water and salt into a probably clean mug, but there was no chance he could forget that his father’s shadow was at his table.

Rodrigo caught himself glancing over at the kid for the fifth time and sighed. He grabbed a second probably clean glass off a shelf and dumped an old packet of hot chocolate into it with some water. It wouldn’t be hot, but at least it would be sweet.

He’d always figured that Miguel would be as cold and judgmental as his father up close, but from what he’d see the kid wasn’t anything like him. Quiet for sure, but Miguel actually seemed like a good kid from what he could tell, even if he was stiff. And dressed in ridiculous fancy pajamas that made him look even stiffer. The poor kid looked like a dress up doll.

“Okay, so I guess I can’t leave you here alone while your Papá’s passed out.” Ruy said, shoving a pile of junk off the table with his elbow and setting down the mug in front of Miguel, who tentatively sat down on the chair. “So what kind of stuff do kids do these days? I know you’re not much of a talker.”

“Gracias.” Miguel said, scooting forward on his chair and taking the mug. He’d spoken almost too softly for Rodrigo to hear.

“So you can talk after all.” Rodrigo said, sitting back down in his own chair. He’d thought the kid was mute. “I guess you’re just quiet?”

Miguel shrugged, not looking up as he sipped his drink. Maybe he’d used up his word for the day.

“Alright, I talk enough for two people anyway.” Rodrigo said, kicking his feet up onto the table. “So how old are you anyway?”

Miguel glanced up, then away.

“Eight?” Rodrigo guessed. He was rewarded with a small shake of the head. “Nine? Eleven? Twelve?”

Miguel nodded.

“Geez kid, you’re twelve and you’re dressed that that?” Not to mention he’d been dead for an extra couple decades by now. “That’s practically a teenager.” Rodrigo frowned, “Jeans were still cool when you were alive weren’t they? Why don’t you ever wear any of those?”

Miguel looked very small as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Do you  _want_  to wear jeans?” Rodrigo asked.

Miguel’s shrug was even smaller this time.

Rodrigo’s frown deepened as he took a drink.

He could clearly remember being told off for “dressing like trash” while he was alive, just because he’d enjoyed staying on the edge of whatever was new or caught his eye. It was all too easy to imagine his father’s favorite pet being suffocated into formal old-fashioned outfits. Especially since it seemed the kid didn’t have an ounce of rebellion in him. Rodrigo tapped his glass, watching Miguel for a long moment.

“You know what,” Rodrigo said, tipping back the last of his drink as he stood. “Caprice, I’ll be right back, watch Miguel.”

Miguel’s eyes widened as Rodrigo turned to go, making him pause.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’m just going across the street.” Rodrigo said, pulling a woven poncho off a nearby pile of stuff and slinging it on over his head. “Just stay right here with Caprice, I’m going to go grab something.”

Miguel’s eyes were still wide, but he held the mug closer and nodded.

“I’ll be right back.” Rodrigo promised as he ducked out of the kitchen, grabbing his wallet on his way to the door.

***

“Alright, here we go.” Rodrigo said, panting a little as he came back into the kitchen, dumping a huge armload of clothing onto the table. “Take your pick. Let’s get you dressing like a twelve year old.”

_Instead of like some creepy porcelain doll_

Miguel looked like he hadn’t moved an inch during the fifteen minutes Rodrigo had been gone. He’d hurried as quickly as he could to the second hand shop across the way, dashing through to grab every twenties style piece of clothing (jeans, sweatshirt, jerseys) he saw that looked child sized, unexpectedly anxious at leaving the kid alone.

Miguel’s eyes got wide as he looked over the pile of denim and polyester in front of him. He stood on his seat to get a better look.

“Here’s some pants that look your size,” Rodrigo said, holding up a pair and tossing it towards Miguel. “They’ve got holes in the knees, that used to be cool right?

Miguel pawed through a pile of shirts, looking over his shoulder like he was afraid he’d get caught. Rodrigo’s heart hurt for some reason, almost as badly as his hangover headache.

“Here’s a cool shirt, want this one?” Rodrigo asked. He picked up a blue T-shirt with a cartoon character printed in the front and held it up for Miguel to see.

But Miguel was busy yanking a red sleeve out of the pile, there was an actual excited look on the boy’s face.

“Found something?” Rodrigo asked, coming over as Miguel pulled out an old beat-up red hoodie and held it up.

The hoodie had definitely seen better days, he probably wouldn’t have bought it if he hadn’t been in such a rush. The stitching was loose on the white sleeve stripes and the elbows looked a little threadbare, but Miguel’s face was shining with excitement as he looked at the old thing. He was actually  _smiling._

“Well if that old thing can get a smile out of you then I’d say we’ve got a winner.” Rodrigo said, ruffling Miguel’s hair. “Going for the grunge look, I can respect that. Take a T-shirt and go get changed.”

Miguel nodded excitedly, scooping up his bundle of clothes and leaving the kitchen. When he returned a minute later Rodrigo did an exaggerated double take for the kid’s benefit, making him grin.

The pants looked a little loose, but Miguel already had his new red hood up, his hands stuffed in the pockets. It could have been Rodrigo’s imagination, but the kid already looked miles more relaxed just from a wardrobe change, he even had a little smile he couldn’t seem to keep off his face.

Rodrigo wondered what Papi would think when he saw Miguel dressed like “casual trash.” He’d probably be furious. He’d probably feel like his little pet was being corrupted into a functioning individual right under his nose.

It made Rodrigo wonder what else he could do.

“Whoaaa, look at you! Now you look ready to party.” Rodrigo said, “You haven’t had anything to eat yet today right? How does ice cream sound?”

“For breakfast?” Miguel asked incredulously.

“Hey, this is a judgment-free zone, kid.” Rodrigo chuckled, mentally chalking up a tally point in his mind for each word Miguel had spoken aloud. He swung open his freezer and pulled out a half empty carton of pistachio gelato, tossing it onto the table. “Besides, it’s that or vodka. My last fiesta ate out my pantry.”

It took Rodrigo a minute to find a spoon, but soon Miguel was happily eating pistachio gelato right out of the carton. Rodrigo kept chatting away as the kid ate, leaning back against the counter while he watched, but his mind was elsewhere.

He had no idea how long Enrique would be asleep, it was hard to tell with new arrivals, but the longer they stayed with him the greater the chance of his father tracking them down. The easiest option would still be to dump them out onto the street as soon as Enrique woke up, let things take their course when his father inevitably came for Miguel. But now Rodrigo wasn’t so sure anymore if he really liked the idea of his father getting Miguel back.

He’d always assumed Miguel was some lost cause his father kept under his wing, but if ice cream and jeans could get the kid to loosen up this much it made him wonder who Miguel really was under all those rules.

And he was also having trouble shaking the image of a desperate and exhausted Enrique out of his head from the night before.  

“Hey Miguel, you wanna see my pool out back?” Rodrigo asked, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Miguel looked up silently, looking vaguely intrigued.

“You ever seen someone backflip into a pool from off the roof?” Rodrigo asked, grinning.

_Now_  the kid’s eyes were wide.

Rodrigo wasn’t exactly sure anymore what he was going to do when Enrique woke up, but he had a feeling it was going to be something dangerously close to getting involved in family drama.

He and Miguel might as well have some fun until then.

 

***

 

“Papá, please, I didn’t know.” Héctor Juinor took a step back, bumping against the armchair in Héctor’s office.

“How could you not know?” Héctor shouted, making him jump. It had been years since he’d yelled at his middle son. “You know how delicate Miguel is Teto, you’ve seen how closely we have to take care of him, how could you not know Enrique could be a danger to him?”

“Papá, you never tell me these things.” Teto said, glaring and pushing back with his trademark stern logic, just like his mother. “You never once told me that Enrique wasn’t to be trusted around Miguel. He said you’d asked him to meet you at Miguel’s room, he’s the boy’s father, without any other information to go on of course I believed him.”

“Héctor, Teto’s right, he’s not the one to blame here.” Imelda said, coming over to put a firm hand on his shoulder. “None of us thought Enrique would be this reckless.”

“Well apparently we should have!” Héctor said, but he forced himself to turn away from Teto before his anger got the best of him again.

He had very nearly sidestepped away from Imelda’s touch, not wanting to be calmed with so much fearful anger flowing through him, but he resisted the urge. Imelda was always, always right about these things. He’d learned years ago to bend to her advice when he got worked up, otherwise things went off the rails very quickly.

Miguel had only been discovered missing an hour ago and the whole mansion had been thoroughly searched. With Dante sleeping in front of the bedroom door Hector had assumed Miguel was safe inside all morning. The fact that Enrique had been able to get past the alebrije was perhaps the most unsettling part of the whole disaster, setting Héctor even more on edge.

“Teto,” Imelda said, calm but stern. “you may have been the last person to see Enrique before he disappeared with Miguel last night. Do you remember anything he might have done or said that could give us a clue on what he did next?”

“Not that I know of.” Teto said, stiffly straightening his shirt cuffs. “I caught him right after he’d been arguing with Ruy. The idiot spilled wine all over Enrique’s shirt and then flew off on Pepita. That’s all I saw.”

Héctor turned, eyes wide.

Rodrigo.

“Héctor,” Imelda said warningly, catching his intense look, “we don’t know that Ruy had anything to do with this, don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Imelda, this is exactly the kind of stunt Rodrigo would pull.” Héctor said, looking at her.

“Teto, thank you for coming to tell us about last night, you can go now.” Imelda said, giving their son a look.

“I don’t know Mamá, perhaps Papá’s right, I mean-” Teto started, but Imelda’s gaze turned to a glare and he cut himself off, nodding and leaving the study without another word. A rare occurrence for their second son.

“Imelda, we have to at least check.” Héctor said as soon as the study door closed.

“Héctor, he’s done everything he can to avoid you for decades.” Imelda said, resting her hands above his elbows, “Why would Ruy do something like this now?”

“Because he’s insolent and never thinks before he acts.” Héctor said, his voice starting to growl. He could feel the heat of old wounds started shaking free from memories he’d tried hard to bury. “He’s always looking to pick a fight and he’s never been shy about harming this family before.”

“Héctor, mi amor, I know you and Ruy have bad history together, but-”

“Bad history?” Héctor said, forcing himself to keep his voice reigned in as he looked into his wife’s eyes. “Rodrigo did everything he could to destroy the family reputation when we were alive. He never once stopped to think how it might affect the rest of the family, he was only ever in it for the attention. Enrique was talking with him Imelda, what else could that have been?”

“Please, Héctor, you’re upset, you’re unstable when you’re like this.” Imelda said, her voice as soft as iron. Her grip on his arms tightened ever so slightly.

“Of course I’m upset,” Héctor said, his voice hoarse and shaking as his eyes stung. “Miguel is out there somewhere with a man he doesn’t even know anymore. A man who knows nothing about caring for a dead child, much less how to care for Miguel. And what if he cracks Miguel? What if Miguel ends up reliving his death? He’s been trying to forget that for nearly twenty years, it could destroy the boy, Imelda, and then the entire family could come crashing down, the whole-”

“No one is going to come crashing down, Héctor.” Imelda said sternly. “Enrique is desperate, but he cares for the boy, he won’t purposefully do anything that he knows will hurt Miguel. He also knows nothing about the Land of the Dead, so they can’t have gone far. We’re going to take Pepita and Dante out to track them. Enrique’s still freshly dead, he’ll be exhausted, chances are he’s already realized his mistake and will be willing to come quietly when we find him.”

“He is never leaving this mansion again when we get him back.” Héctor said, trying his hardest to let his wife’s cool logic filter through the hot emotions still raging inside him. “Either of them. And Enrique can never be allowed close to Miguel again after this.”

“We will cross that bridge when we reach it.” Imelda said, smoothing his shirt against his ribcage. “We will have them both back by the end of the day, no police, no hysteria. Everything is still under control. This is a family matter, and we’re going to keep it in the family, claro?”

“…si.” Héctor closed his eyes tight, leaning into the hand she put against his cheekbone.

He had to believe her, he had to stay with her plan. He knew he was too emotional, he knew that things went badly if he tried to strike out on his own.

Even if everything felt wrong, he had to trust her, that things would be alright, that Miguel, that the family would be alright.

“And what about Rodrigo?” Héctor asked, opening his eyes and doing his very best to keep his voice calm and reasonable sounding.

“Rodrigo has no reason to be involved on any of this, but if you really want we can ask Coco to reach out to him,” Imelda said, “We don’t know where he lives, but she knows how to contact him. Our time will be best spent taking the alebrijes out to track Miguel’s scent. We need to get moving, and quickly, the trail could already be cold.”

“Alright.” Héctor said, biting back what more he wanted to say.

“Good.” Imelda said. She leaned in and kissed him, then pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Now, let’s go find our grandson.”

Héctor nodded, and in a swirl of skirts Imelda turned and walked out of the study. He meant to follow her, but hung back. He squinted at the far wall as he tried in vain to corral the worst case scenarios still playing in his head.

He hadn’t spoken with Rodrigo in years, but he could clearly imagine the reckless trouble he could be getting Miguel into, the idiotic things he might be doing for a laugh. Rodrigo had done plenty of things before with the express purpose of striking at him, and taking Miguel like this was perhaps the very worst thing Rodrigo could have done to hurt him.

And as hard as Héctor tried to shake off the idea, to listen to Imelda’s instructions, he could feel himself becoming more and more sure that this was exactly what had happened.

“I could find him.”

Héctor turned to see Victoria standing in the doorway, arms folded, her gaze cool and intense.

“Mija, you shouldn’t have been listening.” Héctor said, picking up his jacket to follow after Imelda.

“I can find Rodrigo.” Victoria said.

Héctor paused as he pulled on his jacket, watching her. He shook his head, pulling his jacket on.

“We’ve decided to ask Coco to talk with him,” he said, “we aren’t going to hunt him down.”

“Mamá Imelda doesn’t think he has a motive,” Victoria said, folding her arms. “But we both know he’s probably got Miguel. Tio Rodrigo is the most dangerously unpredictable one in the family, and he hates you. Who knows what he’s already done?”

“Victoria, I can’t deal with this right now.” Héctor said, his voice becoming sharp, “We don’t even know where he is and your Mamá Imelda doesn’t want us wasting time tracking him down. You are not to get involved, understood? We don’t want to escalate this if we don’t have to.”

“Pepita knows where Rodrigo lives.” Victoria said, stepping back as Héctor walked out of the study, swinging the door shut behind him.

“What?” Héctor paused, his hand on the doorknob as she watched him.

“Tio Héctor said Pepita flew Tio Rodrigo home last night.” Victoria said, folding her arms and smiling a thin little smile. “She could take you straight to him. If you wanted.”

Héctor’s grip on the door handle was tight enough that the bones in his hand were beginning to ache.

Victoria was a special girl with special life experience and talents, but he made a habit of not taking her advice over Imelda whenever he could help it. Victoria had his fire and Imelda’s sharp intelligence, but none of the calculating restraint.

“We are going to let Coco contact Rodrigo.” Héctor repeated.

“You really think he’ll tell the truth?” Victoria asked, looking disgusted. “If Rodrigo isn’t helping Enrique, then finding someone so clueless would be easy, but if he is helping them then you’re already running out of time. Do you really want to give Enrique time to get his footing and disappear forever? Do you ever want to see Miguel again?”

“You know I will do whatever I have to to protect this family Victoria,” Héctor said, “I am not going to let Enrique get away with this.”

“And what about Rodrigo?” Victoria challenged.

“This isn’t your place Victoria, you are not to become involved.” Héctor said, but he couldn’t quite make himself let go of the door handle.

Probably because he knew that she was right.

But there was a reason that he rarely let himself get pulled into Victoria’s plans. When Victoria made a mess it was nearly impossible to clean it up, but this was different, this was Miguel at stake.

…and if he went instead of her, then maybe he could keep things in control.

“If you don’t then I will.” Victoria said, cold heat lacing her words as her emotions started to come through. She was gripping her own arm hard enough that her hands were shaking slightly. “You can’t let  _anyone_  get away with kidnapping a Rivera.”

“No, Victoria, please, it’s alright.” Héctor sighed, letting go of the door. “This is different, it’s not going to end badly.”

“You don’t know that.” Victoria said, standing stiffly. “The longer you wait the worse it will get.”

“I’ll go check on Rodrigo. I promise.” Héctor said. “But you have to promise me that you’ll stay here.”

He already felt the guilt of being behind Imelda’s back, but also relief at having a good reason to. Victoria was right, they had nothing to lose and no time to waste. Besides, if he didn’t humor her then who knew what she would try.

“Nothing bad is going to happen to anyone.” Hector said, trying to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

“You don’t know that.” Victoria repeated.

She adjusted her glasses, then turned and walked away down the hall. Héctor watched her go, then set off down the hall in the opposite direction, the way Imelda had gone.

Imelda still wouldn’t allow it, but now he had to find a way to get Pepita alone for a while. If Imelda was right, and Rodrigo wasn’t involved, then nothing would happen and she wouldn’t be upset for long. On the other hand, if he did find Miguel, well then how angry could she really be with him after the fact?

Very angry. He already knew that, but tried to stuff down the thought as he quickly walked down the hallway.

The very thought made him grit his teeth, but it seemed that he was due for a chat with his youngest child.

Rodrigo had left him no choice. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to @slusheeduck/death_frisbee, the co-creator of this au who helps me get everything ironed out before the actual writing bit starts. As always, my tumblr ask box is open for questions, comments, and general screaming.


	11. Breaking Point

****Enrique woke up with pain in his chest. Not as bad as yesterday, but still plenty more than he’d have liked.

He groaned as he sat up, rubbing his bony hand on his sternum. He’d been moved to a couch in a side room by the looks of it, he’d have been more disoriented if the piles of junk everywhere didn’t tell him he was still in Tio Rodrigo’s flat.

Enrique swung his feet off the couch, ignoring the way his leg bones clicked in his ankles. Maybe someday he’d have the time to fully process the fact that he was extremely dead, but not just yet. Not until this madness was over.

“Go on, you choose the next song.”

Enrique leveraged himself up onto his feet and walked to the doorway, following the voices to the front room. Most of the clutter had been pushed to the edges of the room and in the middle sat Tio Rodrigo, his horse, and Miguel.

Enrique blinked to see Miguel was in normal clothes again, wearing an old hoodie that looked just like the jacket he used to wear everywhere when he was alive.

“I’ve got vinyl, tapes, CDs, digital. Anything you want to listen to, I’ve probably got it.” Rodrigo said, holding a tablet screen for Miguel to see as he scrolled through it.

Miguel shrugged, still silent, but Enrique couldn’t help noticing how much more relaxed he looked, attentively watching Rodrigo, actually making eye contact while he talked.

“How long was I asleep?” Enrique asked, walking over to join them.

“Eyyyy, buenos días!” Rodrigo said, looking over with a smile and pushing his shoulder good-naturedly as he sat down beside them on the floor. “You were dead tired, it’s nearly sundown. Miguel and I have had a full day, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, Tio Ruy did a backflip off the roof!” Miguel said, smiling as Rodrigo reached over to mess up his hair.

Seeing Miguel smiling like that, talking and laughing in normal clothes, it felt like snatching a moment from the past. Almost as if Enrique was seeing Miguel alive again.  _His_  Miguel.

“Sounds like you two have been having a good time.” Enrique tried to cough back the emotion rising in his chest, but it only got worse as Miguel scooted over to lean against him. “Thank you so much for looking after him Tio Rodrigo, I’m sorry for passing out like that, I know that this is much longer than you agreed to shelter us.”

“Just call me Ruy,” Rodrigo said, rubbing the back of his neck, “only my father and my landlord call me Rodrigo. And don’t worry about it. It’s been a long time since I’ve had family over…it’s been kind of nice.”

“Well, muchas gracias, Ruy.” Enrique said, wrapping an arm around Miguel. It was hard to believe that this was the same Rodrigo that had sullenly barked at them the night before. “We really can’t thank you enough.”

“So I’ve been thinking,” Rodrigo said, leaning back against his horse. “which I try not to do too often, but you know, desperate times. I’ve been calling in some favors today. It’s a little complicated, but I’ve got some friends who can help sneak you out of town for good.”  

“I…for good?” Enrique asked, surprised, “I think I really only need a couple days with Miguel, just to get some distance from Papá Héctor so everyone can cool off. I know Papá Héctor will be angry, but Miguel’s my son, I have custody.”

Rodrigo’s expression was pained as he stared at Enrique, as if he was trying to weigh how much he could say.

“Hey, Miguelito,” Rodrigo said, leaning forward, “your Papá and I need to talk some stuff over, can you take Caprice out back for a little bit so she can’t hear us?”

Enrique looked down as Miguel leaned closer against him.

“Come on kid, you can do it,” Rodrigo said, patting his alebrijes’ shoulder as she got up. “I just need you to watch Caprice so she doesn’t get into trouble.”

It seemed like something that was too far out of Miguel’s ability, this was the boy that could barely even talk, but to Enrique’s surprise Miguel nodded and stood. Miguel glanced back at him and Enrique smiled encouragingly, curious to see how far he could go.

“Come on ‘Preese.” Miguel said. He put a hand on her side and walking with her to the open back door and out into the backyard.

“I can’t believe how much better he’s doing already,” Enrique said, “what did you do?”

“I treated him like a person.” Rodrigo said, his voice losing most of its energy as soon as Miguel left the room. “Look Quique, I don’t remember what I told you last night, but it wasn’t enough if you think you can hang around here.”

“Lo siento, we can leave as soon as you like.” Enrique said, a little uneasy at the sudden shift in mood.

“I don’t mean  _here_  here,” Rodrigo shook his head, “I mean in this part of town, in this city. The afterlife’s a real big place, we need to get you two lost as far away from the Rivera mansion as possible. My amigo Sebastian is going to take you for tonight, he’ll get you on a ferry first thing tomorrow morning that will take you far away from this part of the Land of the Dead. One of my very best friends will pick you up on the other side, I trusted her with my life. Once you reach her not even Papá Héctor will be able to find you.”

“I…that’s very generous of you to set this up for us,” Enrique said, “but what if we took a simpler way? Is there a city hall or someplace I could take Miguel instead to get things sorted out legally? I mean we’re all dead here, I don’t want to cut us both off from the family entirely for centuries.”

“You kidnapped Miguel.” Rodrigo said, looking at him incredulously, “I think I told you that Papi doesn’t like people taking his things. If he finds you it’s not going to be a calm discussion, you’ll never be allowed to see Miguel again after pulling a stunt like this.”

“He can’t do that.” Enrique said. Rodrigo had to be overreacting. “Don’t they have laws here? I’m Miguel’s father.”

“And Papi’s Miguel’s  _Papá_.” Rodrigo said, not budging an inch in his seriousness. “He’s had the kid for twenty years Quique, he can just say you’re an unfit guardian after stealing him to get you out of the picture. And that’s if a court ever even sees it in the first place, you don’t actually have anything you can hold against him as a bad guardian, do you?”

“Well no,” Enrique said, “nothing specific, but there’s obviously something wrong, you’ve seen Miguel!”

“I’m not the one you’ve gotta convince.”

“This is insane.”

“Welcome to the familia.”

A feeling of heavy dread was starting to settle on Enrique. Things had seemed so simple the night before, dangerous, but straightforward. Get Miguel away from Héctor and try to help him get back to his old self.

Enrique pressed his palm to the ridge above his eye. How out of it was he really? Was his thought process really that scrambled that he hadn’t thought this kind of thing could happen?

“Do you really think he’d press charges?” Enrique asked, looking up, “Whenever I heard stories about him he was always so generous and kind. Maybe we can still talk things out.”

“A few years before I died I got in a fight with my brother,” Rodrigo said, absently tugging in his small braid, “it was Posadas and Mamá convinced me to come over and Teto was being an idiot like usual. We started yelling at each other and I think I was probably drunk, so I shoved him and he crashed back into a table. He wasn’t even hurt, he’d shoved me harder than that plenty of times, but for some reason Papi had had enough. Guess he didn’t like his disaster child pushing around his war-hero, computer brained son.”

Rodrigo scruffed his hand through his hair, making a sound like he was clearing his throat. “Anyway, Papi got in my face about it, and then he snapped when I said all he cared about was his brand instead of his family. He hit me across the face and screamed me out of the house, couldn’t take his youngest son “threatening his family.” He hasn’t even looked at me since that day.”

Enrique watched as Rodrigo absently rubbed his cheekbone, as if feeling an ancient bruise.

“I died in nineteen fifty-one.” Rodrigo said, picking up a nearby bottle of beer and taking a swig before continuing. “It’s been over seventy years. I can guarantee you that he’s not going to have any mercy on the man who kidnapped his grandson, and that’s assuming it’s him that finds you first instead of sending Vico. In that case you’re just plain dead.”

“I, what?” Enrique said, feeling a little lightheaded. “Who’s Vico?”

If Rodrigo was telling the truth then maybe it would be better to leave now, to get to his friend’s house sooner than later. If that was closer to the real Papá Héctor we was starting to see how after twenty years Miguel had gotten to be the way he was.

“Aw come on, you know Vico,” Rodrigo said, “she’s on your ofrenda every year. Glasses, hair bun, incredibly terrifying?”

“Wait, you mean Victoria?” Enrique asked, the name clicking into place in his head. “Tia Victoria?”

_Quique I’m scared, what if this is another Tia Victoria?_

_Unfortunately, with the family history of kidnappings, we have to cover our bases._

_Don’t tell Elena I said so, but I’m just afraid this will end like Tia Victoria._

Tia Victoria, his mother’s sister that he’d never met.

Miguel hadn’t been the first Rivera to disappear under mysterious circumstances, but Enrique had caught himself thinking more than once that at least when Victoria had been kidnapped at the age of eighteen the Rivera family had known what happened to her.

Only hours after she’d disappeared the ransom notes had begun arriving, demanding a sizable chunk of the Rivera family fortune. Hours had turned into days and then weeks, the demands only getting larger instead of Victoria being returned home.

It was a dark episode in the family history that no one talked about. Enrique had only learned about how it had really ended from looking up old newspapers during Miguel’s investigation. The kidnapper had been hunted down, had been confronted by the police, had been killed.

But when they broke into the kidnapper’s stronghold, it had become clear that it was far too late to save Victoria.

Enrique tried to think back to if Mamá Coco had talked about her daughter when she’d taken him through the old photo album back at the hospital. She must have, but he certainly didn’t remember seeing Victoria at the family party at the mansion.

“She’s completely cracked.” Rodrigo said, “No one’s really sure what happened to Vico, but everyone knows that no one knows where her kidnapper went after he died. If you ask me, she did him in.”

“Okay, what?” Enrique shook his head, a stressed smile on his face at the mounting overwhelming ridiculousness of it all. “You can’t kill a dead person. I’m new, but I know that much.”

Rodrigo stared him in face, then threw his empty glass bottle against Enrique’s leg, making him cry out as pain lanced up his bones.

“Can’t kill a dead man,” Rodrigo said, leaning back against the couch. “but you can still make him wish he could die.”

“Alright, you know what?” Enrique said irritably, rubbing his leg. “This is great and all, but I’m officially convinced we’re wasting time.” Rodrigo had to be exaggerating all of this, the family outcast telling ghost stories about the people who had kicked him out. “How do we get to your friend Stephano?”

“Sebastian.” Rodrigo said, handing him a very old looking smartphone. “I’ve loaded a map on here to get you to the meetup point. Don’t let people see you with that in public though, cell phones are real rare over here. Wait another hour until it gets really dark, then I’ll get you on your way. Whether you beleive me or not, it’ll be better for everyone to get you two to safety as soon as possible.”

“How will we-”

Enrique looked up as a shrill screeching whinny filled the apartment. Caprice had come back inside and was knocking over piles of junk in her haste to get to Rodrigo, who stumbled to his feet.

Enrique jumped up, looking past Caprice to see Miguel standing at the back door. He rushed to his son as quickly as he could, seeing that Miguel looked as locked up and wide-eyed as he had when he’d first seen him at the mansion.

“Pepita.” Miguel whispered, barely audible as he pointed up at the sky outside. “Papá’s coming.”

 

***

 

_The first twenty-four hours are the most important._

_The first day after the abduction is your best chance to find them._

Héctor wound his bony fingers tighter in the shaggy green fur of Pepita’s neck, urging her to go faster as the words chanted in his head.

He and Imelda had spent the whole day combing public areas with family members that could be trusted, looking everywhere that a newly dead and likely overwhelmed kidnapper could easily end up with a stolen child. The longer they searched with no success the more certain he was of Victoria’s theory. If Enrique wasn’t being helped then they would have found him by now, he couldn’t have gotten far.

But they hadn’t found him. Meaning that someone had helped him kidnap Miguel, and that someone was going to be very sorry that they had dared to do so.

Pepita’s rolling growl vibrated through her body as she flexed her massive wings, sending them into a steep tilting dive over Rivera Plaza. Héctor ducked low, the wind whipping at his hair as they plummeted. His bones rocked as Pepita swooped her wings forward at the last moment, letting her weight slam to the cobblestones with feline precision.

“Where’s Rodrigo? Can you smell Miguel?” Héctor asked, leaning forward as the giant cat padded across the plaza. “Which of these houses are they hiding in?”

Pepita flicked an ear as she strode forward, she was listening, but she wasn’t going to be rushed. Where Dante would spring to whatever command Héctor gave him, Pepita had to be convinced. It had taken far too long to pull her aside while Imelda was looking the other way, and even longer to convince Pepita to show him where Rodrigo was. But Miguel was still in danger, and that was enough to get any member of the Rivera family moving, whether human or feline.

Pepita pricked her ears at something Héctor couldn’t hear, and in one smooth motion, vaulted over a nearby wall, landing them in a courtyard beside a pool.

Héctor could feel the hot disgust rising in him as he dismounted, sliding down Pepita’s side. There was party debris all over the yard, empty bottles, haphazard furniture, half eaten food. Bad enough in the land of the living, a horrendous show of opulent disregard in the land of the dead, where all ofrenda items came at a hefty price. He could practically smell the youthful flippancy as he walked to the huge sliding glass door on the ground floor apartment.

They were definitely in the right place.

“Pepita, do you smell Miguel?” Héctor barked.

He felt a huff of hot air behind him, and a twisting trail of cyan shoeprints lit up on the ground below him as Pepita’s breath swept across the foot path. Héctor’s non-existent heart leapt in his chest at the sight. He’d been right, Victoria had been right! Miguel was here, all he had to do was get him back.

“Miguel!” Héctor called, nearly shaking with impatience. He tried to wrench open the sliding glass door, but is was firmly locked in place. “Pepita, break the-”

He cut off as a figure on the other side of the glass walked into sight. Head tipped to the side, shoulders slack, an empty smile on his face, everything about Rodrigo’s posture was as lazy and unfeeling as the bottle hanging from his grip.

“Buenas tardes, Papi.” Rodrigo called through the glass door, shoving his free hand in a pocket under his ridiculous wool poncho and saluting him with the beer bottle. “Been a while. How’re the wife and kids?”

“Rodrigo I know that you’ve taken Miguel.” Héctor called back. “Open this door immediately.”

“Awwww, seventy years and not even a “how are you”?” Rodrigo said, his voice muffled as he leaned his arm and forehead against the glass, taunting him. “What’re you yelling about? Lose something?”

“Open this door or I’ll have Pepita open it for me.” Héctor said coldly, “If you’re so afraid of me then you should have picked something better than glass to hide behind.”

Something in Rodrigo’s gaze turned icy as he watched Héctor through the glass, tapping the rim of his bottle against his teeth. With a leisurely motion Rodrigo reached out and flipped the lock on the door, sliding it open and stepping outside.

“Can’t be afraid of something you pity…Papi.” Rodrigo said, his lazy, empty grin twisting into something sharper.

It had been so long since Héctor had spoken to Rodrigo, it had been so long since he’d felt the jagged and acrid anger that only Rodrigo knew how to pull out of him. It was disgusting, Héctor couldn’t believe he hadn’t believed Victoria sooner.

“You will address me with respect.” Héctor said through gritted teeth. “You will be turned over to the police for child abduction, you are going to rot in a cell until you’re forgotten. You’ve gone too far this time Rodrigo, not even your mother can pull you out of this one.”

Rodrigo’s expression didn’t shift an inch, but Héctor could see the slightest tremor in his grip on the bottle. He was trying to hide it under all his bravado, but Rodrigo was scared.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.” Rodrigo said, his tone deceptively steady. “But I think it’s time for you to get off my property and go ruin some other kid’s life.”

“What was that?” Héctor asked, taking a deliberate step forward.

Héctor could hear Pepita’s warning growl behind him. Heat was rising up his spine, and some distant part of him knew that this is where Imelda would tell him to step back, to cool off. But he had no choice.

“I  _said_ , go ruin some  _other_  kid.” Rodrigo narrowed his eyes. “You’ve already done plenty of damage here.”

“I did  _everything_  for you.” Héctor jabbed a finger against Rodrigo’s sternum, hard enough to make him stumble back. “I gave you a kind of life most people can only dream of. I gave you every chance, every opportunity. You are the one who ruined your life Rodrigo, not me.”

“You didn’t give me a life, you gave me a nightmare!” Rodrigo shouted, throwing his glass bottle to shatter against the pavement at their feet. “You think I cared about money?”

“Well you sure wasted enough of it.” Héctor shouted back, “Always running off with the dirtiest reputations you could find, putting despicable rumors in the papers, filing your veins and lungs with as much poison as you could find.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have run off if I’d felt like you cared!”

“Maybe I would have cared if you hadn’t broken your mother’s heart and done everything you could to tear down this family!” Héctor said, unable to stop the ugly words from spilling out of his mouth.

“Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?” Rodrigo asked, folding his arms. “Is that what you told yourself the night I  _died_? Is that what you said over the podium at my funeral?”

“How  _dare_  you.”

“Tequila didn’t kill me Papi, and it wasn’t the car or the harbor either and you know it.” Rodrigo leaned forward, Héctor could smell the alcohol on his breath. “ _You_  killed me. And like  _hell_  am I going to let you keep killing Miguel.”

The crack of bone on bone shot through the courtyard before Héctor even realized that he’d struck Rodrigo, viciously backhanding him across the face. Rodrigo tumbled to the ground, hands skittering in the broken glass as he tried to break his fall against the pavement.

A sudden wave of air buffeted Héctor back, making him throw up his arms to shield his eyes as he involuntarily stepped back. A thundering roar shook the entire courtyard, making his head ring dangerously, every fiber of his being shaking in an instant, primal fear.  

He opened his eyes to see Pepita glowering down at him, her glowing scarlet wings spread to full span, her fangs bared as she stood over the fallen Rodrigo like he was a wounded kitten.

“Pepita get off him!” Héctor shouted, “Rodrigo, where’s Miguel?”

“You’ll never find him!” Rodrigo yelled back, his voice shaking, “You’ll never see him again, he’s already out of the city where you can’t hurt him anymore.”

“You have no idea what you’ve done!” Héctor yelled, lunging forward.

A barrier of massive glowing feathers slammed in front of him, blocking him from seizing Rodrigo. Pepita’s wing swept him aside, nearly knocking him into the pool.

“Pepita, down!” Héctor shouted, but the big cat glowered at him before gently grabbing the scruff of Rodrigo’s shirt in her jaws, taking her with him as her wings swept down, launching them both into the air.

“Get back here!” Héctor yelled after them. He jumped to his feet, but they were already out of sight beyond the surrounding rooftops.

Héctor cursed at the top of his lungs, heaving aside a deck chair as he stormed into Rodrigo’s apartment. It was absolutely revolting inside, but there in the kitchen was a heap of child’s clothing, there on the floor were Miguel’s red pajamas. A furious raging search around the house quickly confirmed that Enrique and Miguel were gone, but all signs proved that they had been there.

Héctor slammed open the front door, ribcage heaving as he clutched a bat he’d found during his search. He stepped out onto the small cluttered porch, looking out onto the empty street, then fell heavily to his knees. His hands were shaking, his head spinning.

_You killed me._

Every time he closed his eyes he kept seeing Rodrigo’s terrified expression as he cowered under Pepita. Except somehow it was Miguel too. Small, and frightened, and accusing. Two dead sons.

Both beyond his reach.

“How did this happen?” Héctor asked the sky weakly, tipping his head back.

If not for the city’s intense light pollution he might have seen the first stars coming out in the darkness.

He hadn’t seen stars in decades.

Everything was spooling out of control so quickly. Miguel gone, Enrique gone, Pepita gone. Even Dante had been acting strange all day, refusing to track a scent more than a few steps at a time if Héctor looked away. Imelda would be furious that he’d gone after Rodrigo without asking her.

But…

He had been  _right._

Héctor looked back down at the bat in his hands, watching his finger bones shift as he gripped it tightly.

Rodrigo had said that Enrique had already taken Miguel out of the city…but he was a liar. There was no way that Enrique would have been able to move that quickly, not with him being so freshly dead and with a terrified child in tow. And who knew how long it would be before Enrique shook the truth of Miguel’s death out of him.

If that happened, if someone as unstable as Enrique learned the truth, then the entire family would be in danger. Héctor couldn’t let that happen, he had to keep trying, he had to keep going, for the sake of the family.

Héctor got to his feet, bracing himself on the porch railing, trying to steady his breathing. They were still in the first twenty-four hours of the kidnapping, he could still save Miguel, he could still find him in time and bring him home safe.

He took a deep breath, then descended the porch stairs, setting off down the street as quickly as he could manage. He needed to act fast, he needed a plan.

It was time to bring in Victoria.

 

***

 

“I am so sorry Ruy,” Mamá said, “your Papá is very shaken and scared right now, we’re just trying to get Miguel and Enrique home safe, Papá is frantic, he’s not thinking straight.”

“You say that like he’s ever thought straight in the first place.” Rodrigo said flatly, dodging his mother’s attempt to put a hand on his shoulder.

Pepita had flown him straight to the family mansion, dropping him on his mother’s rug like a stray kitten and not left him alone until he’d explained what had just happened. Just the fight though.

By the time Pepita landed in the backyard Rodrigo had only had enough time to swing Miguel up onto Caprice’s back and tell Enrique to follow her away as quickly as he could. He’d bluffed to his father and said that they’d made it out of the city, but the truth was that by the time Pepita had dragged him away, Enrique and Miguel would have been lucky to have made it a few blocks at most.

And here he was at the family palace, facing his mother instead of helping them get to Seba’s place as quickly as possible.

“So what happens now, are you gonna lock me up?” He asked, trying to look irritated but nonchalant. He’d been surprised to see how shocked she was at his story of the confrontation, apparently Papi was more off the rails than he’d even thought.

“Of course not,” Mamá looked stern, but also hurt in a way that hurt him too. “Ruy, I’m very sorry this is happening, but you’re still our son and we still love you. This is frightening for all of us, I think it would be safer if you stayed here for now, especially while Papá is so scared and concerned.”

“Not a chance.” Rodrigo shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Papi’s already made it clear I’m no son of his. I best be going before I infect any of the primos with disgrace, eh?”

“Rodrigo.” Mamá said, her voice firm but quiet. She looked him in the eyes and set her hands on his shoulders, ignoring his half-hearted attempts to shrug her off. “I love you. I’m sorry every single day that things are bad between you and your Papá, but you are still a valuable part of this family.”

“Whatever.” Rodrigo said, looking away. He hated it when Mamá did this kind of thing, it only made the hurt worse.

He grimaced as she hugged him, sternly holding him close until he hugged her back. He tried his hardest to hang back emotionally though, steeling himself against the tears that he knew would come if he wasn’t careful.

She was always doing things like this, pretending that she could somehow make everything better, pretending that if she still loved him then it meant Papá did too. And it almost worked sometimes, almost made him feel like maybe things  _could_  somehow be better.

But not this time, this time things had gone too far. That dead look that had been in his father’s eyes…

Enrique and Miguel still needed his help. He had to get away as quickly as he could.

“Tell Papá I don’t ever want to see him again.” Roderigo said as Mamá finally let him out of the hug. “I mean it, I’m sorry Mamá, but I’m not coming back ever again.”

“You don’t mean that.” Mamá said sternly.

“I really do.” Rodrigo said, matching her sternness. He hesitated for a moment before pushing on. “Something is seriously wrong Mamá, I don’t know what it is, but he’s really got a screw loose this time. You need to stop him, he’s going to tear Enrique apart if he catches him, but Enrique is really an alright guy, Miguel’s already doing so much better than when he was with Papá.”

He’d been hoping this news would maybe make her pause and consider, to stop and think, maybe even to ask more about it. After all, she was the smartest woman he knew, even if she always did side with Papá.

But instead her eyes got wide.

“Ruy,” she said, “if you know  _anything_  about where they are hiding, I need you to tell me right now. We have got to get them both back as quickly as possible.”

Rodrigo ignored the collapsing feeling of disappointment in his chest as he stepped away from her. He’d known it was a long shot. She’d never taken his side in an argument before, why should she start now, when it really mattered?

“I have no idea,” he lied, turning away and walking to the door. “They crashed at my place for a day, Enrique said Papi gave him permission to have Miguel. I didn’t ask questions. I was about to kick them out anyway when Papi showed up.” he paused at the doorway, “Goodbye Mamá.”

He could hear some kind of protest behind him as he walked out and closed the door behind him, but as he walked down the long, empty hallway no one came after him.

Well, not like he cared anyway, right?

Rodrigo rubbed his eyes on his sleeve as he walked. He’d always been awful at lying to himself, he needed a drink. Wait, no, not a drink. He needed to stay as sober as he could so he could track down Caprice find Miguel and Enrique before anyone else did.

A vice-grip latched around his neck vertebrae from behind.

Rodrigo choked reflexively as he was jerked back, then thrown through an open doorway. The back of his skull cracked painfully against the stone floor as he skidded to a stop, bringing spots to his vision as he gasped in shock.

“What-?” He coughed, trying to get to his feet, but a sharp weight to pinned him down.

“Holá, Tio Rodrigo.” a cold voice drawled above him.

He was still disoriented as his arms were wrenched behind him, lifting him up and slamming him into a chair. Something tight wound around his ribcage, trapping him in place. He kicked but something sharp slammed into his kneecaps, making him cringe for the moment it took for his leg to be strapped to the chair leg.

“Stop, let me go!” he cried, yanking at the strap around his chest, “This is insane, what are you doing?”

“Insane is such a vague term.” Victoria said, seizing his wrists and strapping them both to one arm of the chair, her deceptively thin hands easily pinning him, despite his struggling. “I prefer “efficient.’”

“Let me go before you regret it.” Rodrigo hissed, “You’ll finally get locked up for this, you’ll finally get locked up like you deserve.”

Victoria just snorted. She traced her fingers up the radius bone on one of his pinned arms, then twisted it up and away.

Rodrigo cringed at the deep aching shiver that ran through him, he was far too well remembered for his joints to come apart on their own. Pulling off a bone didn’t hurt exactly, but it was a deeply uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation, like teeth falling out in a nightmare.     

“Where are Enrique and Miguel?” Victoria asked, taking a step back to look at her handiwork.

“I don’t know,” Rodrigo spat, thinking fast, trying desperately to find a way out. This well strapped in it wouldn’t do him any good to try disconnecting other joints to escape. “I already told both of my parents that. I know you’re just my father’s attack dog, he’s not going to be happy when he hears about this, I’m his son.”

“Better an attack dog than the runt of the litter.” Victoria smiled thinly. It was the first time Rodrigo had ever seen her smile, he didn’t like it one bit. “Papá Héctor doesn’t always have the stomach for what’s necessary, but he always understands afterward. He shouldn’t have let you go so quickly, not when you know where they are.”

“I don’t.” Rodrigo said, some part of his mind subconsciously taking note of the fact that she  _hadn’t_  been sent by his father. “I already told my parents that. Let me go.”

“You’re lying.” Victoria said flatly, leaning against one of the room’s pillars, “I suppose I could let you go and just follow you to them, but I think this will be much more effective. Papá Héctor’s always talking about how much he regrets you, I don’t think anyone will miss you if you were to disappear for a while.”

“You can’t do this.” Rodrigo said, trying his hardest not to shake. “It’s not going to get you anything, I’m telling you, I don’t know where they are.”

He was a bluffer, a show-off, he made a lifestyle out of  _avoiding_  pain, he wasn’t prepared to handle this kind of insanity. He’d heard too many dark rumors about Victoria and he was suddenly starting to believe a lot more of them.  

“You know, I always thought that in the afterlife there would be a hell, someplace for monsters to suffer, to get what they deserved.” Victoria said coolly, lazily tapping a finger against the radius bone she was still holding, the tapping feeling coming to him slightly delayed, like an echo. “But then I got here, and wouldn’t you know. Turns out hell is a bit of a do-it-yourself project.”

Rodrigo saw what was about to happen and started to shout, but before he could, Victoria turned and broke his arm bone across the pillar, sending a shattering pain through him right before he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seatbelts.
> 
> As always, great thanks to @slusheeduck , who helps me behind the scenes to produce this madness.
> 
> im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com


	12. Locked Door

Go, go, go,  _go_.

Enrique didn’t have lungs, but a familiar tired burn was eating through his bones as Caprice led the way around another street corner. He’d been forcing himself to keep up for what could have been twenty minutes or an hour, the horse getting increasingly antsy as his pace gradually slowed.

“Stop!” Enrique gasped, jogging to a stop and leaning heavily against a wall, “Por favor, I need a break, just for a minute, I’m sorry.”

The alebrije let out a chattering whinny as her hooves clattered to a stop on the cobblestones. She was jumpy, looking around every few seconds to make sure that Miguel was still clinging to her back, each hand holding a vice grip of feathers. Enrique could tell that she was irked at how slow he was moving, but he couldn’t help it, especially since he was afraid of passing out again like he had last night.

Enrique’s ribs heaved with breath that he didn’t need as he leaned against the wall. He fumbled in his pocket for the old phone Rodrigo had given him, then hurriedly checked his other pockets when he discovered it missing.

The phone, its map, had it fallen out of his pocket while he ran? Come to think of it, had he had it on him at all when Rodrigo had rushed them out of his apartment?

“You know where we’re going, right?” Enrique said to the horse, the ill feeling inside of him settling even deeper than before.

Caprice tossed her head with a squawk, her feathery crest pinned down tightly to her neck, as if offended he’d asked.

“I’m sorry,” Enrique panted, waving a hand at her, “you’re just our only way to, to whatever his name is. Let’s keep moving, I’ll try to keep up better.”

But instead of starting forward again, Caprice looked at her back, quickly dipping to the ground as Miguel slipped down off her side.

“Are you alright?” Enrique asked as Miguel came up to him, leaning against his side and taking his hand. “Is something wrong?”

Miguel looked back the way they’d come, then up at him silently. He gently tugged his hand back towards Ruy’s place.

“No Miguel, we have to keep going, we have to go meet Tío Ruy’s friend.” Enrique said, quickly trying to remember what exactly Miguel did and didn’t know at this point.

He’d never really  _said_ that they were running away from Papá Héctor, not exactly, but Miguel must have figured it out by now. The flash of normalcy he’d seen at Ruy’s had disappeared again, leaving Miguel silent, but it was clear that his son was still intelligent, even if he was having trouble communicating it.

Miguel shook his head. He pulled harder on his hand, humming slightly, as if a word was trapped in his mouth.

“We can’t go back Miguel,” Enrique said, slowly pulling Miguel along as Caprice began to walk forward again. “we need to go somewhere safe so you can get better.”

Miguel shook his head violently, trying to pull him in the opposite direction.

“Locked door!” Miguel said, finally spitting the words out with visible effort, “No!”

“Locked door?” Enrique asked, stopping, “What does ‘locked door’ mean?”

Miguel kept tugging and shaking his head, “No, no.”

“I don’t know what you mean Miguel.” Enrique said, getting on one knee to be eye level with his son, holding his shoulders to steady him. “Are you talking about Tío Ruy? That we should have locked his doors?”

Miguel shook his head vigorously, Enrique’s heart ached to see a single frustrated tear track down his cheekbone.

“Are you scared?” he tried.

Miguel nodded desperately.

“Are you…scared of Papá Héctor?”

Miguel’s humming noise was back as he tugged at his own hair in distress. Neither a yes or a no.

“Are you scared of leaving Papá Héctor?” Enrique asked, wiping away his son’s tear.

“Locked door.” Miguel repeated, nodding.

“Locked door? Does…he lock you up if you try to leave?” Enrique asked, an acrid taste rising in his mouth, a sticky heat climbing up his spine as all of his fatherly instincts tripped on to high alert.

Miguel squinted hard, looking down at the pavement. Again, neither a yes or no answer.

Had he at least been close? Was what Miguel was trying to tell him somehow more complicated than that?

Enrique jolted as a shrill scream echoed through the street, he jerked around to see Caprice rearing, eyes wide, huge feathered crest fully raised. Her front hooves slammed back down on the pavement and she skittered to the side, her head tossing back and forth, as if trying to spot something.

“Woah! Woah girl, calm down, what’s wrong?” Enrique said, trying to keep away from her hooves as he grabbed for her head. “Are you hurt? What is it?”

A shrill screech rumbled up in her throat as she looked up over him, back towards Ruy’s place, back towards the Rivera mansion.

Something must have happened to Ruy. Something bad. The horse was making the kind of noise he’d expect from an animal that had broken its leg.

“Caprice, please, you have to get us to the friend’s house first.” Enrique said desperately, firmly taking a handful of feathers in each fist, looking her in one of her huge horse eyes. “We have to get there first, I don’t have the map, you’re the only one that knows the way. Por favor, you can’t run off yet, just get us there first.”

Her crest pinned back flat and her front hooves pranced nervously on the cobblestone.

“Please Caprice,” Enrique pleaded, trying his best not to try and imagine what had happened to his tío that would get the alebrije lathered into a panic. “Ruy is trusting you to get us there, he only stayed behind to protect Miguel, if you leave us now we’ll all be in trouble.”

Her nostrils were still flared, but Caprice dipped her head with a sharp chirp.

“We’ll hurry, I promise.” Enrique said, “Miguel we have to go quickly, can you ride Caprice again?”

Miguel said nothing, staring in the same direction as Caprice.

Enrique pushed back at the shiver running through him as he crouched down, helping Miguel get up onto his back. He straightened and guided the horse’s head back in the right direction as he started moving again.

Things were falling apart quickly, he could only hope that Ruy’s friend knew what he was doing.

***

_Something is seriously wrong Mamá, I don’t know what it is, but he’s really got a screw loose this time._

Imelda tried to shake the words from her mind as she crouched low against Pepita, but even as she scanned the city below them she kept remembering the fear that had been in Ruy’s eyes. He’d been scared by Héctor, something she hadn’t seen before.

Or at least not since the night he’d been thrown out decades ago, on that awful night of Posadas.

The problem was that while Ruy was as emotional as his Papá, he wasn’t a fool. He was right, there really was something different about Héctor tonight, and she had to contain it as quickly as possible.

She sat up as she spotted a familiar figure below them.

“There he is!” She shouted in Pepita’s ear, her voice carrying above the wind whipping past both of them as her alebrije tilted into a swooping dive to the street below.

The instant Pepita slammed to the cobblestone street she extended her wing, letting Imelda slide off with practiced speed.

“Héctor!” Imelda shouted, running to her husband, eyes wide.

His tie was loose, his hair was a wreck, he was carrying…a baseball bat?

“ _What_  are you doing?” she cried, grabbing his shoulders, “You sneak off with Pepita and then she returns without you? I told you not to go to Ruy’s, especially not alone! He says you struck him, Héctor.”

“‘Melda, por favor, lo siento.” Héctor said, sighing heavily and tiredly as he let the bat drop to the pavement, resting his hands on her wrists instead. “But I was right, Victoria was right, Rodrigo had Miguel, I think Enrique had only just left when I arrived.”

“I told you not to go.” Imelda hissed, pulling her hands away when he tried to take them in his. “This is how you go off the rails Héctor, the instant you start doing things without me things start to fall apart, you  _know_  this.”

“I had to check,” he said, managing to keep his tone staying infuriatingly gentle and apologetic, like it always did when he knew he was really in trouble. His eyes were big and brown as he gently took her hand in his. “we’d searched all day without anything. Now that you’re here Pepita can track him again, we have to hurry, they’re trying to get out of the city.”

“No. More. Stunts.” Imelda said, not shaking his grip off, but using her free hand to pull him closer by the collar. “I am telling you now that you are losing control Héctor, do not make me warn you again or you’re going to have to stay in the mansion while I find Miguel myself.

We’re walking a very thin line Héctor, and you’ve just made it worse. What if Ruy goes to the police, or if someone’s seen you wandering the streets looking like a wreck, or if you’ve spooked Enrique into running faster and more recklessly now? Do you see how you’ve made things  _worse_?”

She could see the protest on his lips as she gripped his collar, but then his expression changed as what she’d said got through to him and his hands got tighter on hers.

“Lo siento, Imelda.” Héctor said, his voice suitably shaky, his apology real. “I, I didn’t think about it that way.”

“Which is why you do  _not_  go off on your own, Héctor.” Imelda said, her anger softening somewhat at his apology. He was a good man, but someone had to keep him grounded. “You are too passionate, mi amor, you can’t handle yourself. We can still get Miguel back, but you have to promise me no more going behind my back.”

“I’m sorry Imelda, I just thought that, I mean…” Héctor rubbed his eyes, he looked exhausted. When this was all over she would have to make sure he got some rest. “Sí, I promise.”

“Good, now let’s get moving.” Imelda said, taking his hand more securely and pulling him back towards Pepita. “If they really are leaving the city then we have to move quickly.”

***

“You’re a child.” Enrique said, looking at the young man in a tank top and basketball shorts that had opened the door at his knock.

“I’m over fifty, guey.” Sebastian said, looking irritated as he adjusted his backward ballcap. “I just died young, you don’t have to be a jerk about it. You guys are way early, where’s Ruy? I can’t get ahold of him.”

“Héctor found us,” Enrique said, swaying a little as his returning recent death fatigue ate at him. “He told us to go, that he’d stay behind to buy time.”

“You left him with that monster?” Sebastian cried, eyes wide. He looked up at the sky fearfully as he quickly waved them into his apartment. “That guy’s a psycho! That idiot Ruy, what was he thinking? Preece, where is he?”

Caprice gave a trailing screech as she looked back the way they’d come.

“Well, go find him!” Sebastian cried.

The alebrije didn’t need to be asked twice, immediately turning and cantering away back down the street.

“Idiot, idiot,  _idiot_.” Sebastian muttered to himself, scraping a hand down his face. He turned on Enrique, shutting the door behind him. “What does he think he’s doing? I’m calling the police.”

“Hold on!” Enrique said, catching Sebastian’s arm as he led them into his front room, an area featuring futbol posters, a gaming system, and a grand piano. “You can’t, Papá Héctor will tell them I kidnapped Miguel, they might not believe me.”

“Well from what Ruy said, you  _did_  kidnap him.” Sebastian said, “I’m more worried about what Héctor’s going to do to Ruy, they haven’t talked in like ninety years and Caprice would only get like that if he’s seriously hurt.”

“Sebastian, please,” Enrique said, putting an arm around Miguel as he leaned against him. “I have to get Miguel to safety. Héctor’s done something terrible to him and if he catches us then I might never be allowed near him again. We have to get on that ferry tomorrow morning, por favor.”

Sebastian rubbed the side of his head, bone scraping on bone as he stared at them for a long moment.

“We’re not catching tomorrow’s ferry.” he said with finality.

“But-”

“We’re catching the one leaving in forty-five minutes.” he continued, glancing at a clock on the wall and grabbing a jacket off the back of the couch, “There’s no way I’m hanging around to let Tío Héctor stalk us two down. We’re leaving the minute I get my stuff together.”

“Gracias,” Enrique said, sagging against the back of the couch.

“Lay down while I pack up, you look ready to drop.” Sebastian ordered. He scooped some papers and pens off the couch and ruffled Miguel’s hair as he set them on the coffee table. “Here kid, you can draw or something for a bit, alright? We’ll head out soon.”

Enrique sighed in relief as Miguel made a beeline for the art supplies, taking the opportunity to stretch himself out on the couch and close his eyes. He could probably rest once they got safely to the ferry, but for now he had to fight off the fatigue pulling at his bones.

Enrique slowed his breathing as he listened to Miguel scribbling beside him and the sound of bustling in the other rooms of the apartment as Sebastian slammed drawers and closet doors. He hadn’t realized that Sebastian would be coming with them, but he was certainly packing in earnest from the sound of it.

“Who exactly is waiting for us on the other side?” Enrique called, remaining with his eyes closed on the couch.

“Iria.” Sebastian called back from another room. “She’s Ruy’s old sweetheart, they were a thing back when they were alive and he’s never had the guts to get her back.”

“Oh yeah?” Enrique said after a moment, unsure what else he could say without being rude. He could see at the same time why Ruy could be both a missed bullet and a catch, depending on what side of sober he was.

“Yeah, they’re perfect for each other, but he’s got his drinking, and she’s got her husband.” Sebastian said, his words accompanied by the banging of a cabinet door.

“I…can see how that could complicate things.” Enrique said, putting a hand over his eyes.

“She’s a gem though.” Sebastian’s voice said, traveling back in and then out of the room through another door. “We’ll be safe once we reach her, Tío Héctor doesn’t even know she exists, once you two get settled I’ll come back for Ruy.”

Sebastian kept talking, but it became fuzzy.

The next thing Enrique knew, he was being prodded awake.

“Lo siento!” he said blearily, sitting up in a panic. “Did I sleep all day again? Did we miss the ferry?”

“It’s been ten minutes, chill out.” Sebastian said with a thin chuckle. “Now let’s get moving, the docks are close by, but we have to hurry if we’re going to catch the boat.”

Enrique stood, took a moment to find his balance, and then followed Sebastian to the front door.

“Miguel, come on!” Enrique said, looking back to where his son was still drawing furiously. “We have to go.”

Miguel slowly stood, still focused on the paper as he finished, then dropped the pencil, scrunching several sheets of paper into his hoodie pocket and coming over.

“Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?” Enrique asked as they went out the door, Sebastian locking it behind them.

Miguel took his hand, holding it tightly as he stood close, looking at the pavement in indecision.

“Alright, let’s move!” Sebastian said, leading the way across the street and down a flight of steps through a back ally.

Enrique started after him, silently sighing in relief as Miguel followed, down a long flight of steps through a candlelit alley, carefully hopping through a bent fence gate.

Sebastian led them down streets, down more back alleys, down down down, threading them past the nicer parts of town as the architecture around them aged visibly.

Miguel kept walking with him, but Enrique could feel him slowing a bit with each street they jogged through.

“Right down there.” Sebastian said as they turned another corner at the bottom of a flight of steps.

The buildings around them were ancient looking stone now, no residents to be seen in the light of the thick clusters of candles melted to the steps. Down another few flights of stones steps and past dark stone archways was a well-lit dock with a sparse crowd around it. A few passengers were already loading off the ferry moored to the dock.  

“Great!” Enrique said, starting down the flight of steps after him, Miguel in tow.

He stopped as Miguel pulled sharply at his hand. He looked over to see that Miguel staring at the boat, eyes wide as he tried to tow him back up the steps.

“Miguel, it’s alright, the boat is going to take us somewhere safe.” Enrique said, holding his ground. “You don’t have to worry, we’re okay.”

Miguel shook his head, digging in his hoodie pocket with his free hand and pulling out one of his crumpled pieces of paper. The others dropped to the stone steps and Miguel made a distressed noise, prompting Enrique to let go of his hand so he could scoop them up again.

“Miguel, we have to go, what is it?” Enrique asked.

“What’s the hold up?” Sebastian called, he was paused on a landing below them. “We have to go.”

“I don’t know.” Enrique said, watching Miguel carefully shuffle through his papers, meticulously smoothing them out with his bony hands.

Miguel straightened his last sheet and then handed it to Enrique. He took it, tilting it towards the dim, flickering orange light of the candles near them.

It had been a long time since he’d seen Miguel’s drawings, he’d always had a knack for them. It was easy to see that the drawing was of a living boy in a red hoodie, playing what looked an awful lot like Papá Héctor’s old skull guitar, standing in the middle of a swirl of… leaves?

“Is this you?” He asked. Hadn’t Mamá Coco said that it had been playing the old guitar that had cursed his son to the Land of the Dead all those years ago?

Miguel nodded vigorously, taking the picture from him and swapping it for the next one in his stack.   

This drawing was Miguel again, now guitarless and walking beside a skeleton in a patchy blue suit. The name “De la Cruz” was hastily scrawled beside the skeleton with an arrow.

“De la Cruz? Who’s that?” Enrique asked, but Miguel was already taking it and handing him the next picture.

The lines were more haphazard in this one, but the Miguel in his red pen ink hoodie was cowering behind a skeleton in a charro suit with a goatee, unmistakably Papá Héctor.

And Papá Héctor was pointing disdainfully to the ragged blue suited skeleton, “De la Cruz,” who seemed to be under attack by a huge winged creature scribbled in with green highlighter.

“This…” Enrique stared at the drawing, “You saw Papá Héctor tell Pepita to…attack someone?”

He looked down to see Miguel sniffing, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve before whipping the drawing out of his hand and stuffing the next one towards him. Miguel’s hands were shaking.

It was of Miguel running from Papá Héctor.

Miguel handed him the next drawing.

Papá Héctor catching ahold of Miguel.

Enrique own hands shook as he took Miguel’s last drawing, slowly sinking to his knees on the stone steps. The hastily scribbled drawing showed Papá Héctor holding a door closed, a collapsed Miguel trapped on the other side.

But now the Miguel in the red ink hoodie was a skeleton too.

“Locked. Door.” Miguel said, jabbing the picture with his finger. He held up the drawing of him running. “ _No_.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Sebastian called.

Enrique couldn’t speak, instead pulling Miguel into the tightest hug he’d ever given, fiercely holding him close as they both trembled. Miguel latched onto him, burying his face in his shirt.

Not this. Not his boy.

It all made too much sense.

“Héctor killed him.” Enrique managed to croak. “When he was first cursed here he was still alive, but he saw something he shouldn’t have and Héctor locked him in a room until he died.”

All the years stolen away from Miguel’s short life. All the nights holding Luisa as she cried herself to sleep. Every time Enrique had looked in the mirror and seen hollow, helpless eyes staring back at him.

All of that could finally be pinned on one man, and it was the one person they should have been able to trust.

“See?” Sebastian cried after he’d broken out of his shocked silence, jabbing a finger up at them, “ _This_  is exactly the kind of insane crap I was afraid of,  _this_  is why I was going to call the police. The very next phone I see I’m making the call, I don’t care what Tio Héctor’s going to say to them, no one’s safe anymore. We have got to catch this boat, come on!”

“Miguel’s afraid to leave because he thinks it’ll get us hurt if we try to run.” Enrique said, still holding his son close. He was never going to let go of him again. “Miguel we have to go, we’re going to get you far far away from that man, he’s never going to see you again.”

“No.” Miguel said, tears streaming down his face as he pulled away, “No.”

“You don’t belong anywhere near Héctor,” Enrique said, the pain in his voice nearly turning it to a hiss. “You shouldn’t have died Miguel.”

A sob broke out of Miguel, who instead of shaking his head, went very still, crying as he nodded his head yes.

“No.” Enrique said angrily, not at his son, angry at whatever had caused him the indescribable pain he was witnessing, “ _No_  Miguel, you should  _not_  have died.”

“Papá said I had to.” Miguel said softly, leaning away as he stared at the ground.

Enrique wanted to scream.

He wanted to hit something hard enough to break all the bones in his hand, he wanted to sprint all the way to Rivera mansion and seize Héctor by the neck, to do whatever it was that you could do to a skeleton to make him be sorry for what he had done to his boy.

But instead Enrique choked back tears as he gently held Miguel’s face. “Look at me, mijo. None of this was your fault. None of it. You should  _not_  have died. I don’t care what that man has said to you, he is not your Papá. I am. I love you more than anything and I am not going to let anything happen to you ever again, claro?”

Miguel leaned forward against him, burying his face against his neck as he sobbed.

Enrique held him tightly, his mind tripping and falling over itself as it desperately tried to process what he’s just learned.

One thing was for sure, they were getting on that boat  _now_.

“Enrique, please, we have to go.” Sebastian called.

“We’re coming.” Enrique called, scooping up Miguel and carrying him down the steps as quickly as he could safely manage.

Sebastian saw them coming and turned to keep going down the last stairway, nearly sprinting in his haste as he reached the bottom tore along the dock towards what looked like a ticket booth.

“It’s alright.” Enrique said, his words becoming a sort of soothing chant as they reached the top of the last flight of stairs. “It’s alright, everything is alright.”

A cracking pain exploded against the side of his ribcage.

Enrique tumbled to the ground at the top of the steps, losing hold of Miguel as something grabbed his wrists, jerking them around and behind his own back where they were pinned in place by something strong wrapped around them. A weight slammed him face first against the ground and as his vision began to clear something was jammed into his mouth and cloth wrapped around it, silencing him even as he tried to yell.

In front of him he could see Miguel crouched to the ground, completely paralyzed as he watched helplessly.

Enrique jerked and struggled, but he was too tightly bound already either fight back or alert Sebastian.

“You were so close.” said the voice behind him. “Too close.”

Enrique’s eyes widened as the speaker, who was  _not_  Papá Héctor, walked into his line of sight, leaning down to take Miguel’s hand and stiffly pull him to his feet.

“Come on Miguel, Papá Héctor’s been looking for you.” said the woman who could only be Tia Victoria, her voice sounding nearly bored. “You’re lucky that Tío Rodrigo cracked when he did, if you’d gotten on that boat with this kidnapper we might never have gotten you home.”

Miguel looked up at her silently, clearly in a state of shock. She lazily nudged Enrique’s face with the toe of her boot.

“Just you wait.” Victoria said with a smile, looking down at him as he struggled in vain. “ _No one_ gets away with kidnapping a Rivera.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @slusheeduck/death_frisbee who is the co-creator of this au, and @sweetiepie08 for being an excellent professional consulting source about child trauma and therapy.


	13. Mini Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruy breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Aight peeps, here’s the deal. 
> 
> We know from the main villain!au timeline that Victoria says “good thing Tio Ruy broke when he did,” and this here’s the scene where that went down, meaning it backtracks a bit. It is very small, but very strong. Like a shot of poisoned tequila.
> 
> I try to keep my content in the mid pg-13 range, but this bit here pushes into hard pg-13, so I’m posting it as a separate chapter from the main villain!au timeline for those who want to easily skip it. 
> 
> The next chapter picks up where we left off and you won’t miss anything in the storyline if you want to skip this bit, but it is a terribly bittersweet dive into Ruy’s subconscious worth reading slowly. But again, skip if you need to, that’s why I’m posting it separately.
> 
> \- Wit

“Stop.” Rodrigo gasped, “Please, _please_.”

“Tell me where they are.” Victoria hissed, grabbing a handful of his hair, jerking his head back painfully.

At least, Rodrigo assumed it must have been painful.

Everything was pain now.

“Please.” Rodrigo repeated, barely able to get the words out anymore between stuttering, painful breaths.

Two breaks on his left arm, two, (three?) of his ribs, anything else had been lost in the all-consuming haze that was eating up every part of his consciousness. The only coherent thoughts he had left were that he couldn’t tell her  _anything_ , and the overwhelming need for everything to  _stop_.

If only he could stop shaking. Whether it was fear or pain or actual physical shock, he had no idea, but his trembling was making the breaks hurt even more.

“You’ve got all kinds of fake friends,” Victoria said, sounding icily at ease, her face far too close to his. “which one did you send them off to?”

Rodrigo jerked as he felt another one of his ribs twisted away, but he was still as securely bound to the chair as he had been a million years ago when this had started.

The edges of his vision began to swoop and blur as another wave of pain snapped through him. He heard Victoria say something, but it was too late, he was already unconscious.

***

“Ruy, honey, you can’t keep this up forever.”

If he opened his eyes she would be gone, Rodrigo could feel it.

“Don’t let go.” Rodrigo said, burying his face in her hair, wisps of memory weaving through the dream. Her scent of citrus perfume, the feel of her arms around him. “Please don’t let go.”

“You were the one that let go.” She said, holding him close, so tightly it almost hurt. He could feel her skin on his.

“Lo siento,” Rodrigo whispered, “please stay.”

“As long as I can.”

She was already slipping away, he could feel it, things were getting too bright. He tried to hold on but the pain was coming back, she was fading. In desperation he opened his eyes, and for half a moment there she was, her cello colored eyes and her sad smile.

And then the pain was back.

***

“Iria…por favor…” Rodrigo choked, eyes tightly closed against the tears streaming down his face, back in the grip of the overwhelming pain.

Let him go back, let him go back again. Anywhere but here, anywhere but now.

He waited for more pain, shoulders shaking as he sobbed openly, but it didn’t come.

The pressure around his wrists snapped, followed by the bindings around his legs. The band around his ribcage pulled away and he fell forward, barely managing to partially break his fall with his unbroken arm.

He didn’t even have the energy to wonder what had happened, all he could manage was to curl up miserably on the ground, his twice-broken arm clutched to his damaged ribcage.

“There.” said Victoria’s voice somewhere above him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Rodrigo said nothing, gasping for breath between tears.

It wasn’t until after he heard the door open and shut, until after Victoria was long gone, until after he began to catch his breath again, that he realized what had happened.

That he realized he’d told Victoria exactly where Enrique and Miguel were headed.


	14. Resolution

“Mijo, are you alright?” 

Imelda would have hugged her grandson, but Héctor had been holding Miguel tight ever since Victoria had brought him back into the mansion.

“He’s completely locked up.” Héctor said, tears in his voice as he stroked Miguel’s hair. “Who knows what he’s been through in the last twenty-four hours. Dressed like he went dumpster diving, completely non-verbal, what did they do to him?”

Miguel was wide-eyed and frozen as he rested against Héctor’s shoulder, not responding at all to either of their touch as Imelda rubbed his back.

“He needs rest. He needs help.” Imelda said, already mentally flipping through her short list of physicians that could be trusted. “This is exactly the kind of thing we were trying to avoid with Enrique.”

“I could have found him sooner...if you’d let me.” Victoria said.

Imelda turned to see where her granddaughter was standing in the corner of the room, a lazily smug look on her face. She’d called them back to the mansion half an hour ago, telling them she’d found Miguel, of course bringing them flying home as quickly as they could manage.

“Thank you again, Victoria.” Imelda said, trying to sound as gracious as possible. “We’re extremely grateful for your help.”

“Hmmm.” Victoria said, smiling her sharp little smile, leaning back against the wall and looking like she had a secret she was laughing about to herself.

That.

That was exactly that kind of thing that Imelda hated about her granddaughter.

Imelda used to think that she loved all of her descendants equally, that she could unconditionally care about and adore all her family members, regardless of their weaknesses or struggles.

But not Victoria.

In life things had been fine, Vico had been a perfectly normal little girl, a little serious for her age, but in an endearing way, always wanting to be seen as a grown up. She and Héctor had been as thick as thieves, little Vico adored him for treating her like a little lady, and he loved her for soaking up every bit of attention he lavished on her.   

But that had all changed when Victoria had arrived in the Land of the Dead.

At first it had been easy to make allowances for her granddaughter’s behavior after the traumatic experience she’d been through, but as time went on Victoria’s psychotic behavior didn’t seem to get any better, she just got better at hiding it.

Imelda had trained herself her entire life to recognize threats, and seeing Victoria’s paranoid recklessness set off every alarm she had. But she couldn’t do anything about it since Héctor had taken her under his wing. And of course he had, she wouldn’t have expected otherwise, but it eternally put Imelda on edge to see how easily Victoria influenced her abuelito, how effortlessly she could tug at his volatile emotional side to go behind her back.

Because  _ everything  _ Victoria did was behind her back, Imelda still didn’t know why, perhaps Victoria could feel her unease. Imelda still hadn’t asked Héctor what exactly they’d done on their “outing” all those years ago, the outing that had made Victoria’s newly dead murderer vanish for good.

It wasn’t exactly a secret, since she’d asked not to know, but it was still one of the few things Héctor had never told her. And after surviving over a century of a marriage built on absolute honesty and cooperation, seeing anyone edge their way into the delicate clockwork of their marriage set Imelda terribly on edge.

“And where is Enrique?” Imelda asked, not taking her eyes of Victoria as the girl rocked back and forth on her heels.

“Somewhere.” Victoria said lightly, her smile getting a little wider.

“Victoria,” Imelda said, fighting a shiver. “where is Enrique?”

“ _ You _ didn’t believe me.” Victoria said coolly. “I’ll tell Papá Héctor though.”

“Victoria, I swear, if you’ve done something-” Imelda started, hot anger flushing through her at the sheer flippancy.

“Melda, it’s alright.” Héctor said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “She’s helped us immensely tonight, we can afford to humor her. I’ll take care of Miguel and talk with Victoria, I’m sure she’s left Enrique somewhere secure and safe.”

There were a dozen things Imelda would have liked to say, but Héctor’s expression changed her mind. He looked so calm and controlled again, the very picture of a perfect patriarch with his grandson in his arms. Everything he hadn’t been over the twenty-four hours.

It stung her pride, but she should let him handle this. He needed the confidence boost.

“Alright.” She said, turning to him and briefly combing his hair back into place with her fingers. “I need you to get Enrique’s exact location so we can secure him as quickly as possible. He’s still family and in a very bad place emotionally right now, we can’t let him become more volatile. I’ll go get Miguel a fresh set of clothes and then come right back, alright?”

“Gracias, mi vida.” Héctor said, catching her hand and kissing it. “I’ll get everything sorted out on this end.”

“Good.” Imelda said.

She let him give her a quick kiss before she patted Miguel and then walked out of the room, being sure not to even look at Victoria as she left. This was still her house, and she was still in control.

The real problem was that Victoria had not only been right about Ruy, and had succeeded in safely retrieving Miguel, meaning that it was difficult to discount her, especially to Héctor. No doubt Victoria had left Enrique in a less than comfortable location, but hopefully she knew better than to harm him.

Although Victoria  _ was _ known for having remarkably little tolerance for kidnappers...

Imelda pressed her thumb to the ridge above her eye against her oncoming stress headache as she walked down the side hallway, taking a shortcut to Miguel’s room instead of the usual main hall.

There was also the fact that Héctor had been manipulated by Victoria so easily tonight, that he’d willingly gone against her own explicit orders. He’d only told her when she’d confronted him about it...although he would have told he sooner if he’d found her first...right? He always fessed up eventually when he did something stupid.

If only Victoria hadn’t gotten involved. She was too much of a wild card to easily calculate for and it left Imelda feeling like  _ she _ was the paranoid one.

A sound jerked her out of her thoughts as she walked, pulling her to an abrupt halt.

She waited to hear it again, half convinced she had imagined it. There was only silence in the long hallway.

She took another step, and heard the noise again.

The noise was pain.

Imelda zeroed in on the doorway to her left, briskly trying the knob, but the side room locked. It should be an empty spare room, perhaps with some storage, no reason for anything unusual to be in there, especially without her knowledge.

Every bit of her bristled as she distinctly heard the whimpering sob again, definitely coming from the other side of the door. The deepest part of herself was screaming that she needed to get to whatever was on the other side of this door, and  _ now _ .

She thrust her hand into the deepest pocket of her dress, retrieving the ring of keys she carried with her everywhere. She flipped through several of the spare room keys, jamming them into the lock one after another, trying the knob more and more roughly each time. Why did this house have so many blasted keys anyway?

She tried the next key and the lock popped open with a click. She pushed the door open, stepping inside and flicking the lights on.

Every single fiber of her being seized up, and then roared with anger as she registered the sight of her youngest son lying curled up and broken on the ground. Ruy was sobbing like a child as he held his very clearly broken arm to his broken ribs.

“Ruy!” Imelda shrieked, rushing to him and dropping to her knees. “Ruy, mijo! What happened? Who did this?”

He cried out weakly as she tried to pull him up, his three, no, four broken ribs grating roughly against the floor. He was clearly in too much pain to sit up, so she rested his head in her lap, desperately trying to take stock of the disaster.

His left arm had a bone broken in two places, his ribs were snapped with the loose pieces on the ground. There was a small splintering crack above one of his eyes, marring the beautiful yellow and orange sunburst pattern across his forehead.

“Ruy, what happened?” she choked, hot anger triggering tears that rolled down her face as she frantically tried to think of what to do.

“I, I told her.” Ruy gasped through clenched teeth, his eyes fluttering open for a moment as she gently stroked his bangs out of his eyes. “I think I told her, but it was an accident!” his eyes locked on her, “Mamá, I  _ told _ you,” he panted weakly, “I  _ told _ you Papá had lost it.”

Imelda had seen her daughter slowly waste away and die of cancer. She’d seen her son drift away from the family never to be recovered. She’d seen a granddaughter lose her sanity, and a great great grandson lose his life, but somehow she’d never felt the kind of jagged pain she felt at that moment, the peculiar sensation of her soul tearing in two.

Héctor would never.

Héctor would never have let this happen to her child.

“Ruy, we have to get you a doctor.” Imelda said, her brain completely skipping a beat as she dove instead to what she could handle as her mind spun. “Can you move? Are your legs alright?”

“Don’t...” Ruy said, cringing as he pushed her hand away from his broken arm, “Don’t pretend you can fix it, just, just stop.”

“Be quiet.” she said, firmly but gently taking his broken arm and holding it so she could see it, despite his protests.

The radius bone was broken in two places, a chunk as long as her finger missing from the middle, leaving his hand hanging uselessly from the end of his arm with no second bone to anchor and move his wrist properly. The natural ends of his radius were undamaged, meaning that they held to their joints, but the broken chunk wouldn’t stay in place like the rest of his bones naturally did. The longer the completely exposed splintered ends were left, the more difficult it would be to fuse them back together properly to heal.

Who had been savage enough to inflict this kind of damage?

She already knew, Ruy had said “her,” but the knowledge still wouldn’t settle in Imelda’s brain as she looked at the chipped portion of her son’s arm lying on the floor.

“Ruy, I need you to hold still.” Imelda said, grabbing the hem of her skirt and tearing at the seam. The cloth was expensive, not hardy, meaning that ripping off two long, uneven strips was easier than she’d expected. “I’m going to set your arm so it doesn’t get more damaged.”

“Just leave it,” Ruy said, trying and failing to pull his arm away from her grip, “I have to go, I have to help them, she’s going to catch them!”

“ _ Ruy. _ ” Imelda snapped. She held his shoulders until he stopped his weak struggling, looking up at her with his teary brown eyes.

_ Lo siento Mamá, I didn’t mean to. I was following the music in my head and didn’t see the ditch! _

_ Mijo, you’ve got to be more careful. You’re only ten, that’s too young to be breaking your leg like this. You’re just like your father, can’t see two feet in front of you if you have a song in your head. _

_ Good! I want to be just like Papá. _

_ Well lucky for you, I don’t think there’s anything we can do to stop that from happening. Now stop moving or you’re going to make it worse. _

Imelda blinked back the unexpected tears that surfaced with the memory. It had been decades since her Ruy had been the bright-eyed and gap-toothed rascal that had followed his Papá everywhere he could.

How on earth had they ended up like this?

“We’ve already gotten Miguel and Enrique back.” she said gently, brushing his bangs back as she swallowed her own half lie, “They’re both safe. I’m very sorry that you were trying to help Enrique take Miguel away, but it’s over now. No more struggling, mijo. It’s time to stop.”

“Mamá.” Ruy’s good hand shook as he put it over one of hers, looking into her soul as he kept his searing eye contact with her. “Please. Don’t do this. What did Papá do to Miguel? That kid is more broken than anyone I’ve ever seen, you  _ can’t _ think that he’s alright.”

“Miguel has a lot of struggles that we work hard to help him cope with.” Imelda said automatically, looking away, “I’m going to take your radius bone off while I set it, it’s going to be uncomfortable. I need you to relax.”

She and Ruy were about as well remembered as each other, meaning she knew how uncomfortable having a bone removed could be, but she was unprepared for his reflexive gasping yelp as she carefully pulled the two loose ends away.

It made her want to hurt someone very badly, as badly as they had hurt her baby.

“Victoria did this?” she asked, forcing her voice steady as she set the pieces of bone carefully on the fabric of her skirt, taking a long minute to stroke Ruy’s hair soothingly to calm him as his panting breath settled again.

“Si.” Ruy said, his eyes tightly shut. “She said Papá wanted information.”

“Your father would never have allowed this.” Imelda said, her tone much harsher than she’d meant.

But Ruy said nothing, his unsteady breathing his only reply. Which was somehow worse.

“Your Papá...” she picked up two pieces of his broken arm bone, her thoughts racing to try and finish her sentence.

_ Would never hurt you, _ but he’d struck Ruy just a few hours ago.  _ Would never get carried away to do something dangerous _ , she knew that was a lie.  _ Loves you _ ...?

Would never...go behind her back?

She tried to keep her hands as steady as possible as she slowly edged the broken pieces back together, lining up the jagged break as exactly as she could. Ruy held still, but still jerked as the splinters of bone slid back together, making her heart ache.

The grim silence around the two of them thickened as she moved to the next piece, both of them all too aware of her unfinished phrase still hanging between them.

She slid the third piece of bone into place as cleanly as her trembling hands could allow, then tightly wrapped the entire bone in cloth from end to end, twice. It wasn’t the plaster a doctor would need to put over it to protect it, but it would keep the fragile broken ends from becoming more damaged.

Imelda gently took Ruy’s arm, holding it steady as she held the wrapped bone close enough to it for it to jump back into place without clattering painfully.

“Don’t let it hit anything.” Imelda said, her voice sounding hollow even to herself. “It’s only cloth. I’m going to get a doctor now to take care of the rest.”

“What are you going to tell them?” Ruy asked wearily, “That I fell down the stairs?”

Imelda was silent as she cradled his head in her lap, his eyes still closed as he gingerly held his arm, finally too worn out and broken to fight back anymore.

A dreadfully familiar icy feeling began to seep up her bones as her son twitched and coughed painfully.

This.

 

This was too far.

This was her boy.

_ No one _ was going to get away with hurting her boy like this.

She didn’t care what their reasons were.

“Was your father here when it happened?” she asked, her voice becoming terrifyingly crisp as her determination set in.

“No,” Ruy said, sounding utterly miserable and exhausted, his voice starting to fade at the edges,  “she dragged me in here as soon as I finished talking to you. Can...I see Caprice? Por favor?”

“I’ll bring her the moment I find her.” Imelda promised, trying not to gag at the thought of Victoria ripping him apart only yards away from her. She bent down to kiss his forehead. “I’m going to fetch a doctor, do not move. I’m going to take care of this.”

“Please stop this, all of this.” Ruy said, opening his eyes again as she carefully stood to go. She absolutely hated leaving him on the floor, but she couldn’t carry him herself and he didn’t look like he could move. “I don’t care what Papá’s told you, what you’re doing is _ wrong _ . You have to let Miguel and Enrique go.”

“Do not move.” Imelda instructed, pausing at the doorway, wishing desperately that she didn’t have to leave him...but that would mean calling for Héctor. “I’ll be right back.”

She stepped out of the room and carefully shut the door behind her.

She stared at the door, resting her shaking hands against the wood for a long moment as her thoughts raged.

She loved her husband. But she was all too aware of his weaknesses. Everything he did was powered by the need to protect those he loved, but at the expense of those he didn’t. His frustration with Ruy was hardly a secret, she more than anyone knew the depths of his anger towards their youngest son, and she would be lying if she pretended that he wouldn’t put Miguel first.

Héctor had gone out of line before. He’d hurt people before. He’d killed people without telling her first before.

And tonight, it seemed, he had finally gone too far.

Imelda took her key ring out of her pocket, selected the correct one, and quietly locked the door. Locking Ruy back inside, where he would be safe. She’d hoped it would never come to this, but it was time to lock everything down.

Ruy and Miguel would stay here, where she could protect them.

Victoria would have to be locked up, for good. Telling a half truth about Ruy’s injury would be enough to get her put away permanently, somewhere far away from the mansion where Imelda would never have to see her again. As long as they could arrange for her inevitable treacherous screaming to not be believed if she started spilling the darker family secrets. Non-negotiable solitary confinement should do.

Enrique, wherever he was, would have to be tracked down as quickly as possible. Héctor’s words,  _ I’m sure she’s left Enrique somewhere secure and safe,  _ now made her feel ill now. Of course he’d asked her to leave the room, it made too much sense, he knew she would be horrified at what he and Victoria were doing behind her back. To their own family.

And Héctor.

Imelda squeezed her eyes shut tight, forcefully tamping down the wild emotion trying to claw its way up and out of her.

He would have to be locked down as well.

She needed to get everyone and everything back under control, and  _ now _ .

Imelda put the keys back in her pocket and turned to walk down the hallway, whistling loudly for Pepita.

 

But first, she was going to get a doctor for her son.

***

“Mija, you shouldn’t speak to your abuela like that.” Papá Héctor said, turning to Victoria as soon as Imelda shut the office door behind her.

“Well I don’t think she should speak to me like that.” Victoria said coolly.

Miguel was frozen, completely locked in his own head as he watched them, his face pressed against Papá’s shoulder.

“She’s your elder and you need to respect her.” Papá said, still holding him close in his skeletal arms, stroking his hair as he looked at Victoria. The hug felt different than when his...old Papá had held him. More like he might shatter. “You’ve been an incredible help Victoria, and now I need you to help us tie everything up, where did you leave Enrique?”

He didn’t want to remember...but if he tried to, he could remember way back when he hadn’t let Papá hold him. Back when he’d first come, after...after he’d died. As soon as he’d gotten strong enough to push Papá away he had, fighting and screaming at him when he got too close.

But it had gotten so hard after so long. It had been easier to give up and forget. To let Papá Héctor be Papá. To let him chase the bad memories away and go along quietly to keep his head from feeling like it was going to fall apart.

But now it was anyway.

“First tell me what we’re going to do with him.” Victoria asked, tilting her head to side. “Cement? Have Pepita chew him up? Tie him under the docks?”

Miguel felt Papá’s arms tighten around him, even as his own thoughts started to get hot and dizzy.

“Victoria this isn’t the time for those kinds of jokes,” Papá said, his voice getting stern, “we’re bringing Enrique back here and keeping him somewhere safe, no one is getting hurt.”

“Too late for that.” Victoria said.

“Victoria, if you’ve done anything to Enrique there are going to be serious consequences.”

“Enrique  _ kidnapped _ Miguel, Papá Héctor, you can’t let him off so easily.” Victoria said, folding her arms.

“That is not your decision to make,” Papá said, “your Mamá Imelda is the one in charge here and she’s asked us to retrieve him. Now tell me where he is.”

Miguel wanted to die again as the two adults stared each other down, the tension becoming too much for him, but then Victoria rolled her eyes.

“He’s fine,” Victoria huffed, “I just tossed him in the cenote out back. He’s not going anywhere until I go get him.”

“Gracias,” Papá said, relaxing just a little, “then we need to go fish him out as quickly as possible, then this whole nightmare will finally be over.”

Miguel screwed his eyes shut, desperately pushing against the invisible barrier between his brain and his mouth, barely getting a whisper out.

“What was that?” Papá asked, immediately turning his attention to him, “Miguel, did you say something? You shouldn’t be talking mijo, you’ve been through so much, you need to rest.”

“What...about...Tio Ruy?” Miguel said quietly, burying his face against Papá’s jacket, trying to pretend no one else was there to try and get the words out easier.

Because he had to ask, Tio Ruy’s alebrije Caprice had been scared, she’d known something bad had happened.  

Papá stiffened. “He’s not coming anywhere near you ever again.” Papá said, holding him closer, as if thinking he needed to be reassured. “Rodrigo has never done anything worthwhile for this family.”

“I don’t know,” Victoria said lazily, “he was pretty helpful when I was asking him where Miguel was.” 

“You talked to Rodrigo?” Papá snapped, all the warmth in his voice sapped away in an instant.

“Only for a bit,” Victoria said casually, brushing something off the back of her hand, “he came here to talk with Mamá Imelda and I had a quick chat with him afterward. How else would I have found Miguel so quickly?”

“How did you convince him to talk to you?” Papá said slowly. There was some kind of emotion in his voice that Miguel couldn’t quite figure out. But it sounded a lot like fear.

“I didn’t kill him again if that’s what you’re asking.” Victoria said dryly. “I just convinced him that it would be safer for everyone if Miguel was home. He’s fine.”

“You do not breathe a word of this to Imelda.” Papá said, “I did  _ not _ give you permission to interact with Rodrigo. Mamá Imelda didn’t want you involved at all, and if she knew you did things without my permission, she’d think that-”

“That what, you’d lost control of me?” Victoria spat, her voice getting ugly, “I know she thinks I’m cracked, she’d lock me up too if she thought she could get away with it.”

“Victoria, no.” Papá said, his voice tired, “You know that’s not true, we would never do that. You’re just...unpredictable. Mamá Imelda just isn’t sure how to plan around unpredictability sometimes is all, we both still love you. But please, don’t tell her that you talked to Rodrigo, she’s already upset that I visited him without telling her first, I don’t want either of us to get in more trouble, claro?”

“Si. I can move him to a more secure lower room.” Victoria said.

“ _ He’s still here? _ ”

“Of course he’s still here,” Victoria hissed, “he helped to kidnap Miguel, you think I was going to let him go?”

“Victoria. Did you hurt him in any way?”

“What do you care, he’s just the family mistake, I’ve heard you say it enough times.”

“Victoria, what did you do?”

“ _ He’s _ the one that took Miguel,” Victoria said, her hands in fists at her sides, “why isn’t anything I do ever good enough for you? You’re too soft, you say all these grand things and then you don’t have the stomach to follow through, and then everyone suffers!”

Miguel wanted to ask what had happened to Tio Ruy, he wanted to plead that they leave his real Papá alone, he wanted to yell and scream at Victoria for ruining everything. There was even a small, scary part of him that wanted to yell at Papá.

But he couldn’t, the words were all blocked up inside of him, and so the angry pressure came out of him in frustrated tears instead.

“You’re frightening Miguel,” Papá said harshly, “control yourself.”

“You’re not even going to do anything to Enrique, are you?” Victoria said, her voice rising, “You’re just going to lock him up in some comfortable room for the rest of his afterlife without punishing him at all, aren’t you? You said that we were going to stop him, you said we were going to make things safer!”

“Victoria, you are-”

But before he could finish, Victoria turned and left the room, violently slamming the door behind her.

Miguel wanted to demand that Papá put him down, he wanted to run after Victoria to stop her, he wanted to do a lot of things.

“Miguel, mijo, I need you to stay right here,” Papá said, quickly setting him on one of the couches in the study, pulling a blanket securely around him. It was impossible to ignore how scared he looked. “Everything is going to be alright, Mamá Imelda will be back soon with new clothes for you, please don’t tell her about Victoria. I need to...make sure your Tia Victoria calms down. I know you can’t do anything right now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And then he was gone. Leaving Miguel alone.

Miguel clutched the blanket around him as tightly as possible, his thoughts raging even louder than his frantically increasing breathing in the looming silence around him.

Papá was right, he  _ couldn’t  _ do anything.

Tio Ruy was in trouble, Tia Victoria had probably hurt him and he was locked up somewhere else in the house. His  _ real _ Papá was at the bottom of a cenote, and they’d been so close to escaping and had been yanked back. Everything was getting worse and he couldn’t do anything to help.

Really, he wasn’t even sure which side was right anyway. Papá always did things to help, he helped to calm him when he had panic attacks, he kept him safe, he kept anyone from hurting him...but this time it felt wrong.

Tio Ruy hadn’t hurt him. Tio Ruy had been amazing, he’d helped him to feel...normal. Like he wasn’t broken, like he  _ could _ do things. And his Papá, his  _ real _ Papá, he hadn’t hurt him either.

Miguel put a hand in his hoodie pocket and pulled out the crumpled sheet of paper still stowed there. It was the first page he’d drawn, his attempt to show what it had felt like the moment he’d been cursed. Standing in the cool quiet of the family mausoleum, hefting the familiar weight of a guitar. He could still remember the electrifying energy that had coursed through him as he’d strummed the strings with a powerful sweep of his hand. 

 

In that moment he’d been imagining all the music he’d go on to play, the fame he’d have, the magic he’d make as he strummed the guitar, as a hurricane of flashing marigold petals swirled around him like a living thing. He’d felt like he could do anything in that moment, he’d felt strong and powerful, and  _ alive _ . 

 

It had been so long since he’d let himself remember that moment, since he’d even remembered feeling that way.

Miguel hugged the drawing to his chest, trying to keep the scrap of memory alive in him, fighting to slow his breathing as he forced himself to consider something he hadn’t thought about in years.

What would the old Miguel do?

He closed his eyes tight, arms wrapped around his knees as he rocked back and forth, forcing himself to focus.

The old Miguel would help. He knew that much. The old Miguel would help Tio Ruy and Papá...not, not Papá  _ Héctor _ . Papá Héctor wasn’t his real father. He knew that.

He could remember his real Papá hugging him only an hour ago, it had been a real hug, one that didn’t make him feel fragile, one that made him feel loved.

That was his real Papá.

Miguel swung his legs off the couch, making himself stand, still clutching the blanket and the drawing.

The old Miguel hadn’t trusted Papá. Papá Héctor that is. He’d wanted to get home to his parents, to the rest of his life. To, to-

Miguel closed his eyes, slowly crouching down to the floor as memories of collapsing against a locked door swept through him. He’d been trapped, locked up, kept from getting home, from getting back to his family.

But it wasn’t his fault. Papá Héctor said it had to happen, but Papá had said otherwise. Miguel had to believe that. And it wasn’t a secret anymore either, he didn’t have to be afraid of it anymore.

He was still afraid, very afraid, but he forced himself to stand anyway, slowly walking to the door of the study. One step at a time.

Things had seemed like they were going to be okay when he’d told Papá how he’d died, when they were going to go with Sebastian to the ferry, when Sebastian had said he was going to call the police. That had felt like it was going to be okay and better.

And maybe if he was fast...maybe  _ this _ time he could get away.

Miguel paused with his hand on the door handle, overwhelmed by a sudden, suffocating certainty that the door would be locked. That running away never worked, that things would only get worse again, like they always did.

His breathing was fast and shallow, but he twisted the knob with a jerk, feeling dizzy when the door opened easily.

He looked out into the looming hallway, the open space feeling like it was crushing him down, but he pulled the blanket tighter around him, leaning against the doorway for support.

There were so many things he wanted to do, find his Papá, find Sebastian, find Caprice, leave the house, get to the ferry, be safe, be okay. But if he tried to think of all of those at once he would collapse.

He kept his breathing steady as he slowly walked into the hallway, one foot in front of the other.

For now he could do one thing at a time, and that would have to be okay, and right now that one thing was going to be finding Tio Ruy to make sure he got out safe too.

That was something he  _ could  _ do.

It was what the old Miguel would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to Slusheeduck/death_frisbee, the co-creator of this au.


	15. The Key

Héctor walked as quickly as he could down the hallway without actually running, looking around frantically for any sign of Victoria. He had to find her and get her under control _now_ , before she did anything stupid, before Imelda-

He pulled to a stop as Imelda turned the corner in front of him, appearing only feet away from him. He brain frantically thought of running away for a moment as her eyes narrowed, which was ridiculous, she didn’t know about Victoria, everything was still fine.

“Imelda, I-”

Before he could finish she grabbed the front of his shirt, slamming him painfully back against the wall.

“What. Have. You. Done.” she hissed, right up in his face.

“I-I, Imelda, what-?” he swallowed as panic washed over him. She’d found out about Victoria somehow, she must have.

“You said no more secrets Héctor, you promised me, and then you go behind my back with _this?_ ” Imelda said, still pinning him against the wall.

“Imelda, please,” Héctor said, trying to make his voice as placating as possible, gently putting his hands over hers still at his chest, “Victoria just wanted to help, we wouldn’t have found Miguel any other way.”

“And you _sacrificed our son for it?_ ” she snarled, a terrible strength in her grip as she threw him to the floor.

No. Something was wrong, something was very very wrong. Héctor didn’t try to get up, staring up at her and shaking slightly as he tried to think fast. He had _never_ in a century of marriage seen her this angry at him. This was exponentially worse than when she’d confronted him about talking to Rodrigo, her reaction wouldn’t be _this_ bad for just having discovered that Victoria had talked with him as well.  

“How dare you.” she said hoarsely, looming over him, “How _dare_ you. How could you possibly think I would approve of this? How could you possibly think I would condone torturing my _child?_ You’ve gone too far before Héctor, but there is no going back this time. You will never be able to go back from this one, _I’m done_.”

Héctor had felt a lot of fear in his life and in his afterlife, but nothing had ever shaken him to his core like her last sentence had, leaving him feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

“Imelda, please,” Héctor said, it was time to get everything out, lies or half-truths of any kind wouldn’t help him here, “Victoria told me she talked with Rodrigo, right after he was with you. She told me that he was fine and that she left Enrique safe in a cenote out back. I didn’t know she’d done either of those things until only just a few minutes ago, I was afraid to tell you at first because I knew she would get in more trouble with you.”

“ _rouble?_ ” Imelda spat, “I find my youngest son with half a dozen broken bones, crying alone on the floor of a locked storage room in my own home, and you’re worried about getting in _trouble?_ ”

Everything inside Héctor iced over.

_Victoria, what have you done._

“She told me she didn’t hurt Rodrigo, she told me she just talked to him.” he rasped, the words sounding empty and useless even to himself. He should have known better than to accept such a flimsy lie from Victoria, but hadn’t wanted to face the more likely truth.

“How can you _possibly_ expect me to believe you after everything you’ve done?” Imelda seethed.

“Imelda, por favor,” Héctor said, getting to his knees, “I didn’t know, you have to believe me, I never would have let something like that happen, you _know_ I never would have let something like that happen.”

But she looked away from him. She _didn’t_ know that. It felt like a dagger to the heart. How far had he really fallen, how had he descended this far to lose her trust that thoroughly?

“Imelda, _please,_ ” he begged, holding on to her skirts and looking up at her. He had absolutely nothing to gain from any ounce of pride and he knew it. “I swear on our grave that I knew nothing about Rodrigo, Victoria only told me a few minutes ago that she even talked with him at all and I reprimanded her for even that. I swear I would never have let any of this happen if I’d known, I thought I had her under control, I was wrong, lo siento Imelda, please believe me, I would never have condoned this if I had known.”

She still wasn’t looking at him, but she wasn’t pushing him away either. He stayed absolutely still as she stared down the hallway at nothing, her arms tightly folded. She was trying to think and he needed to be absolutely silent now.

What he would do without her had never seriously crossed his mind before, not as anything more than a nightmarish fear in the middle of the night, brushed away by her embrace.

To be without her, to have truly and irreparably betrayed her trust, to lose her from his side? There would be no use living, there would be no use even being dead without her. He had to believe that this wasn’t the end, he had to believe he hadn’t truly messed up this time, he had to, he couldn’t even begin to face the overwhelming fear awaiting him otherwise.  

He was shaking as he buried his face in the hem of her skirts, feeling like a frightened child, but unable to bear it. He needed her, he needed her so badly, there was no part of him that could survive if she were to reject him.

He heard muffled crying and looked up. She was still looking away from him, eye shut tight against the tears rolling down her face, a hand over her mouth as pained sobs escaped her.

“Imelda,” Héctor was on his feet before he could stop himself, the need to comfort her overriding his own sense of danger, “Imelda, please.”

“You swear?” she choked out, eyes still closed, her fist pressed against her mouth as if to force her emotion back down.

“On anything you like,” Héctor said, a painful kind of hope rising in him, “I didn’t know Imelda, I never thought she would go that far.”

Imelda covered her eyes as her tears came in full force, allowing Héctor to pull her into his arms, leaning against his chest as she cried. A heady mix of staggering relief and aching protectiveness surging through him as he held her as close as he could.

“Please,” Imelda said between gasping breathes, “no more secrets, I really mean it Héctor, I can’t take it anymore, I can’t do this.”

“Never.” Héctor said. Nothing was worth putting them in danger like that ever again, no plan, no anger, nothing. “Never again.”

“We have to get Ruy help, he’s so badly hurt.” Imelda said, pulling back and urgently wiping the tears from her eyes, “And Victoria, she has to be put away, for good Héctor, I don’t want to ever see her again.”

“Si, of course.” Héctor said, blocking out the pain he felt at the very thought, “Anything you say, what would you like me to do?”

“We have to lock everyone down, no one can be allowed to leave this house. I need you to help me get a doctor for Ruy, and then we are _both_ going to find Victoria.” Imelda said, her anger flaring again in her eyes, her grip tightening on his arms. “She is going to be sorry that she ever laid a hand on our son.”

A part of him wanted to defend his granddaughter, to push back in her favor, but he had only just narrowly avoided disaster and knew he would be on very fragile ice for a long time. The very best thing he could do right now would be to support his wife in everything she wanted.

“Absolutely,” Héctor said, kissing her forehead, taking new joy in being allowed to do so. “she’s gone too far this time. I agree.”

***

Victoria watched from behind the pillar as Papá Héctor kissed Mamá Imelda on the forehead, and then followed her away down the hallway.

He had rolled over so easily, the instant Mamá Imelda had barked at him, everything he’d said, all the promises he’d made, they’d all evaporated in an instant as he cowered before her like a kicked dog.

Victoria’s hands were clenched so hard that her bones ached. Papá Héctor had pretended to care about her, had pretended to respect her. He had _just_ told her they would never try to lock her up, it hadn’t even been _ten minutes_ and he’d already betrayed her utterly.

Her breath was ragged as fury coursed through her, as she stood absolutely still. Everything she’d done, interrogating Tio Rodrigo, getting Miguel back, capturing Enrique, none of it was good enough for them. She was the only one willing to do what it took to punish the kidnappers and _she_ was the one being blamed for it.

They were wrong, they were all wrong, and none of them would believe her.

And now they were going to lock her up. They were going to trap her, in a small room, all alone, forever, where no one could hear her scream and plead, where she would eventually be worn down, where she would be torn to pieces and never found and no one would ever care.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t _breathe_.

Victoria crouched against the pillar, holding her head and gasping for breath as the fear and anger coursed through her. She needed to do something, anything. She wasn’t powerless, she wasn’t, she could still fight back, she could still punish those that needed to be punished. She could show them all that she was right, she could show them that she was still powerful, that she was still in control.

They’d already found Tio Rodrigo...but they hadn’t taken Enrique away from her yet.

She pushed herself to her feet, smiling through her lightheadedness as she headed down the hallway in the direction opposite of what they’d taken.

She still had the kidnapper, she could still finish what she’d started.

And she didn’t need _anyone’s_ help to do it.

***

It was too much

Miguel leaned against a pillar in the hallway, closing his eyes and trying to slow his breathing, the blanket still wrapped tightly around his shoulders. What was he doing? He had no idea where Tia Victoria would put Tio Ruy. He could barely even think straight.

But he had to think.

She’d said that she’d talked to him right after he spoke with Mamá Imelda, that she’d caught him on his way out. So, maybe she’d been nearby her study when she’d caught him. That meant that Ruy might be in either the main hall, or the side one, the one that led to his bedroom.

Miguel knew every room in the mansion, back before he’d given up he’d explored every room a million times, trying to pass long days and weeks by planning escapes he would never make. After all, there had never been anywhere to run to.

Which was how he knew that there were only storage rooms in the smaller hallway, perfect for hiding someone.

Miguel gritted his teeth, forcing himself to walk forward to the first storage room door in the long hallway. He reached out and cautiously opened the door, looking inside to see a completely empty and dark room. He quietly closed the door, moving on to the next one.

Several long minutes passed as he slowly made his way down the hallway, his fear somehow easing and escalating as he passed empty room after empty room. On the one hand nothing bad had happened yet and he was nearly through all the doors. But on the other he didn't know where he would go next. The mansion was a very very big place, if he had to start searching other floors he already knew he was going to lose his nerve.

A huge part of him was already wondering why they couldn't just go back to Papá Héctor’s office, or better yet, just curl up right here on the floor and wait for Papá to come find him. That would be so much easier, to just give up and forget, to go back to how things were supposed to be.

Miguel looked down the hallway as his resolve began to flag. He knew he had to keep trying, he had to keep trying because his _real_ papá and Tio Ruy needed him...but...what could he really do?

He forced himself to open the next door, look inside, and then close it again. It made him want to cry, but he only had a few doors left. He had to at least make it to the end of the hallway. If he made it to the end of the hallway...well...he would decide whether to curl up or not when he got there.   

He automatically reached for the next doorknob and tried to twist it, but his whole body jolted when the knob refused to turn. He tried the knob again, an icy-hot dizziness sweeping through him as he reflexively grabbed it with both hands, the locked door cold and silent in front of him. Miguel screwed his eyes shut, panting for breath as a whimper came up in his throat and he collapsed to the floor. The phantom feeling of his own death rushing over him even as he silently screamed at himself that it wasn’t real, it had happened so long ago and _it wasn’t real_.

“Kid, is that you?”

Hearing the voice on the other side of the door nearly made Miguel scream, his flashback truly merging with reality for a terrifying instant. But no, it wasn’t Papá Héctor singing him a lullaby as he died, it was a different voice.

“T-Tio Ruy?” Miguel choked, desperately trying to wipe away his tears as he crouched against the door, eyes shut tight.                

“Kid! Miguel!” Tio Ruy’s voice said, sounding like he was leaning against the door too “It’s me, it’s Ruy, you found me, are you alright? Is your papá with you? Enrique?”

Miguel struggled for a too long minute against the invisible barrier in his mouth, pulling fiercely at his own hair in frustration. He _had_ to be able to talk.

“No,” he forced out quietly, hoping Tio Ruy could even hear him through the door, “we need...to help.”

“Okay, okayokay.” Ruy said, his voice sounding the way adults did when they were trying to sound positive. “You are doing amazing Miguel, I really mean it, I’m really glad you’re okay. I’m a little bit hurt right now so I can’t get this door open myself, do you know where a key is?”

“Maybe...Mamá Imelda’s office?” Miguel said, focusing on Tio Ruy’s warm voice.

“I bet you’re right. Can you go check for me?”

“Okay.” Miguel said, making himself stand the blanket falling to the ground as he ran down the hall as quickly as he could, before his fear could catch up with him again.

Mamá Imelda’s office was unlocked, and so was her desk. He started searching through drawers, trying to ignore the momentum he was losing as drawer after drawer came up empty of keys. His energy was sapping away again as he hopelessly checked bookshelves and even under the cushions of the window seat, his brain screaming for him to stop, to give up already.

Miguel looked around the office helplessly, sitting down on the window seat, but not allowing himself to lay down.

Tio Ruy was counting on him to help, this was _not_ the time to give up. He had to think. If he couldn’t unlock the door then maybe there was some way he could break the lock?

A faint noise reached his ear and he turned to look out the window. It was a distant sound, like an angry bird. Several floors below him he could make out a large glowing form, what looked like an alebrije trying desperately to find its way into the heavily secured mansion.

Miguel’s heart leapt as he jumped off the window seat, sprinting out of the office and towards the elevator, a very old-Miguel smile on his face.

***

Ruy sat leaned against the door of his makeshift cell, keeping as quiet as he could as he waited for Miguel to come back..if...

No. He _would_ come back.

He felt truly awful, lying down would be much better than sitting up, but he’d nearly missed Miguel the first time and he couldn’t afford to miss his whispers when he came back. He couldn’t believe the kid had actually found him, from what he knew about Miguel that kind of thing would have taken an incredible effort.

Especially after being caught again because he’d failed.

No. He couldn’t think about that right now, he had been under literal torture, it hadn’t even been on purpose, for once in his life and afterlife he couldn’t wallow in self-loathing. Miguel and Enrique still needed his help, maybe even Seba and Iria, Miguel hadn’t said anything about them.

If they’d done anything to Iria...he didn’t care how many broken bones he had, no one was going to escape him if they’d even touched Iria.

But all this was assuming that Miguel could even find a key, a possibility that was looking less and less likely with each moment that passed. What if he lost his nerve? What if someone caught him?

Ruy looked around the room again, careful to keep his throbbing arm still as he tried to devise some kind of way to force the door open himself. A broom, crates of extra pan de muertos, a rack of candles. Nothing that immediately jogged his imagination.

He jolted as he heard a loud clacking noise approaching his door, the broken off bits of the ribs in his pocket jostling painfully.

“Preece?” he called as the hoofbeats got closer, pulling himself to his feet as quickly as he could manage without fainting, “Preece! I’m here! I’m over here!”

A shrill cawing whinny sounded from the other side of the door and he stumbled back as the whole door shook with a noise like a gunshot. The noise repeated again and again, until the wood around the lock splintered with Caprice's last kick, sending the door flying open.

Caprice rushed into the room, her big beautiful crest standing on end and her eyes ablaze with murder.

“Preece!” Ruy choked, throwing his good arm around her neck and burying his face in her downy feathers. “Good girl, muchas gracias, I missed you.”

Preece made huffing chirps of concern as she looked him over, squawking shrilly at the sight of his broken arm and pulling back sharply when her nose brushed his broken ribs, making him gasp.

“I’m fine, I’m- okay, I’m not fine, but we gotta go Preece, we gotta find-” he cut off as a a small someone leaned against him, “Miguel, you’re the one that found her! Fantástico!” he hugged Miguel close, ruffling his hair. “Alright chico, let’s go get your papá. Are Seba and Iria in here too?”

To his overwhelming relief, Miguel shook his head, “No, just Papá. We need to hurry.”

“You got it.” Ruy said, gritting his teeth against the pain and nausea washing over him with each step forward, “Come on Miguel, we’re getting out of this hellhole for good.”

Miguel took his hand as he started down the hallway, Ruy wished that his other arm was good enough to lean against Caprice, who was hovering over him with each step, unfooled by his brave act.

There was no turning back now. The family was going up in flames, Vico and Papá were off the rails, the only option was to get everyone and get to Iria’s, perhaps even getting Iria to relocate once they got there. Ruy no longer had any idea how far his family would go.

If only he could even be sure that he could keep conscious long enough to reach Enrique.


	16. The Edge

**  
**

 

 

Enrique had to escape. **  
**

He had to find Miguel.

He had to.

Things he desperately told himself as he lay face down at the bottom of the cenote Victoria had shoved him into. He’d landed in the water rather than on the jagged rocks, but the effort it had taken to drag himself back onto dry ground while still bound had sapped every bit of his remaining energy.

He  _should_  get up and search for a way out. He  _should_  be prying off the loosening bindings. He  _should_  be on a ferry right now, sailing away from this madness with his son, getting them both far far away from this nightmare.

And instead here he was, softly crying to himself as he lay on the ground, every bit of him begging to be allowed to pass out, all of his remaining will being used just to stay conscious.

Why?

He didn’t even know anymore.

This had to be Hell. It had to be. He’d died and gone straight to damnation.

He groaned as he rolled onto his side, aching from sheer overwhelming fatigue. The pain in his chest was suffocating, the agony of his recent heart attack weighing him down. Why had he died, why couldn’t he be home with Luisa right now, holding her close, blissfully unaware of what had ever happened to their son, or of the monsters within their own family tree.

Enrique took a deep breath, allowing himself to feel every ounce of pain and fear and regret and anger for a long minute. And then he steeled himself, forcing those feelings to take a back seat, forcing open a cleared space in his mind, however small, for him to think.

Yes, he wanted to die again. Yes, he wanted to close his eyes and never move again. But he was still a father and his son still needed him. What he wanted didn’t matter as long as Héctor and Victoria still had Miguel.

He stared at the cavern walls, his view sideways from laying on the ground. He still needed a plan, and he didn't have to move for that much at least. There was still the ferry, there was still Iria, a safe haven, but that wasn’t going to be enough anymore.

Miguel’s confession, the story of how he’d been  _murdered_  by Héctor to “protect the family” was a horrifying one, and it spoke volumes about who Héctor really was. If he was a man who could kill his own grandson without hesitation, then who knew what other atrocities he’d committed, in his life or afterlife. 

Ruy’s broken down state made sense, Victoria’s psychosis made sense, Mamá Coco’s caginess made sense, even the overly committed family culture he’d grown up with ( _family always comes first, Riveras always protect Riveras, whatever it takes_ ) made too much sense now, having been passed down from that monster. A man who would kill to protect the empire he’d built up under himself.

Just how much blood was the family built on? How many bodies had been left behind by Héctor and Imelda? How many more were to come?

If-, no,  _when_ , Enrique got out of here he wasn’t going to run to Iria’s. Miguel’s safety wasn’t enough anymore, everyone in this family had to be saved. Ruy for one, any other victims for another, but also Luisa and Socorro and everyone he loved who would eventually come here too. Enrique had to do whatever he could to tear down this beartrap of a regime that Héctor had built if anyone was going to be truly safe.

The family reputation, the family wealth. That’s what Héctor would have been trying to protect when he murdered Miguel. Enrique couldn’t care less, none of that mattered when family was at stake. Sebastian had been right, this wasn’t a time for dramatic escapes, this was a job for the police.

Enrique couldn’t rest until Héctor, and Imelda, and Victoria, and anyone else involved in this mess was locked up. For good.

If only he could manage to stand.

He shifted slightly as he heard footsteps far above him, the sound of boots echoing on the walls around him.

“Hello?” he called.

There was no response, only a clattering sound as a rope ladder dropped over the edge, the bottom rung swinging only yards from his face.

It began to sway and shake as someone from above started climbing down.

***

“He’s been beating up on Ruy his whole life, I mean you never see it in the papers or anything, but the whole family’s a wreck, they’re all completely insane!”

“Sebastian, I’m going to have to remind you to let us do the talking,” Officer Chloe Francés said as her police squad climbed the steps of the Rivera family mansion, “we are here to gather information on Rodrigo Rivera’s disappearance, bringing you is already discouraged by regulation, you need to keep silent while we work.”

The nineteen-year-old looked like he wanted to argue, but shut his mouth tightly, pulling the brim of his cap forward as they neared the mansion entrance. He was a good kid. Rodrigo Rivera party noise complaints were so frequent that the station had a rotation chart tacked to the wall to track whose turn it was to go shut it down, which usually meant having a talk with Sebastian. He was well-liked in the department for being level-headed and apologetic.

But tonight was different.

Sebastian had burst into the station over an hour ago with a ludicrous story of Tio Héctor Rivera being a psychotic murderer, of a kidnapping and a failed attempt to leave town. 

It had taken nearly twenty minutes for officers to calm him down enough to pull the story out of him even half-coherently, another twenty minutes to determine that he wasn’t completely high or drunk, and then another twenty to dispatch an officer to Rodrigo Rivera’s residence to verify that he was indeed missing.

Officer Francés had always liked Tio Héctor, he seemed like a good man and a builder of the community. Having worked on a case that was close to his granddaughter Victoria, she’d seen him up close too. She’d even been to a few of his performances, one before she’d died, and a couple of his Sunrise Spectaculars too. Good musician, good man.

But she’d also been a police officer long enough to know that appearances could be deceiving.

“Sebastian, you hang back here with the other officers, I’ll call you up if I need you, claro?” Officer Francés said, waving for her second in command to follow her.

“Do you really think Rivera’s off his rocker?” her second-in-command asked once they were out of earshot.

“I have no idea.” Officer Francés said, shaking her head as they approached the door together, “It’s a lot to swallow, and there’s no previous police record on any of the Riveras other than Rodrigo for his parties. And this is even assuming we can speak with Señor y Señora Rivera at all, we’ll probably be waiting in a parlor for the next two hours while someone tracks them down to-”

She cut off as the door slammed open in front of them, two figures rushing out and then pulling abruptly to a stop before Officer Francés was even close enough to knock.

There stood Héctor and Imelda Rivera themselves, both looking unusually ragged and worn down for celebrities, and completely taken aback at finding two police officers waiting for them on their front porch.

This was already more interesting than Officer Francés had thought.

“What are you doing on our property?” Señor Rivera asked, stepping in front of his wife...protectively? “Why are you here?”

“Señor y Señora Rivera,” Officer Francés said, pulling on her best calming smile and quietly noting the way Señora Rivera gripped her husband’s elbow until he took a step back, as if commanding him to stand down. “a missing person’s report has been filed on your son, Rodrigo Rivera, we’re here to ask if you have any information on where he might be.”

“We...” Señor Rivera’s voice trailed off, his hands tightening into fists.

“Mi amor, we need...we need to come clean.” Señora Rivera said quietly, looking like she was wiping tears away with one hand while taking his arm more gently with the other.

“Imelda, we can’t-”

“Héctor, it’s over, we can’t do this anymore.” Señora Rivera said, cutting off her husband as a tear ran down her face, taking Officer Francés off guard.

“Señora?” Officer Francés said, a prickling feeling going down her spine.

“Officer, our son is inside,” Señora Rivera said, motioning towards the door behind them. “he arrived over an hour ago and is terribly hurt. This evening has been a nightmare. Our great-grandson Enrique died yesterday and is severely confused, he kidnapped our great-great-grandson Miguel, he’s the one that who died years ago when he was cursed, I assume you’ve heard of him?”

“I’m familiar with the story.” Officer Francés said, everyone knew about Miguel Rivera, the living boy that had been waylaid by an antagonist of the family so long he’d died.

“We’ve cared for him ever since the accident, he’s not mentally stable,” Señora Rivera said, “but when Enrique arrived yesterday he kidnapped Miguel and we’ve been looking for him. We thought we could recover them both quickly so we didn’t get the police involved. As you might imagine, these kinds of things have a tendency to...go public around families like ours.” Señora Rivera said, grimacing and looking suspiciously at the group behind them.

“Those are my officers.” Officer Francés assured her, taking down notes as quickly as she could in her notebook. Everything they’d said so far already correlated with Seba’s story, but it would be better to look busy, “Not a word of this will reach the press Señora, you have my word, but how does this relate to Rodrigo?”

“We didn’t find Miguel until we realized that Rodrigo had been helping Enrique.” Señor Rivera said, “He’s always been...the black sheep of the family, difficult to deal with. I confronted him at his home and we had a fight, I got worked up over Miguel’s safety and I struck him. He came here to speak with his mother afterward while I went to keep looking for Enrique before he left town with Miguel. Miguel is a very fragile child, he’s not able to handle this kind of trauma.”

“And then-” Señora Rivera cut off, wrestling with a sob that seemed to be caught in her throat, “then-”

“Officer Francés, we have a granddaughter, Victoria Rivera.” Señor Rivera said, looking more emotionally wrung out than anyone Officer Francés had ever seen as he held his crying wife, “She was murdered several years ago and has been incredibly unstable ever since. 

“We’ve tried to keep her out of an asylum and here at home with us but it was a mistake. Enrique kidnapping Miguel has, triggered her. She’s completely snapped, she’s out of control. She’s tortured our son without our knowledge to find Miguel and Enrique. That’s why Rodrigo is here and why he’s terribly injured and now we don’t know where Victoria is, she brought Miguel back to us but now we’re afraid she’s gone back after Enrique with intentions of violence.”

“Por favor, you have to help us find her!” Señora Rivera cried, holding a handkerchief to her face as her voice approached hysterical, “She’s a monster, she needs to be locked up, she’s hurt my child. You have to find her before she harms anyone else!”

Sebastian had said nothing about Victoria. But it made too much sense.

Officer Francés was all too familiar with the girl’s case. She had been on the team assigned to locate her murderer after he disappeared shortly after his death. The court systems in the Land of the Dead didn’t deal with crimes committed in life, but that didn’t mean they didn't keep a close eye on those known to be truly sadistic. Victoria’s murderer had checked all the boxes of someone that would be good to keep very close watch over and they’d been ready for him.

And then only a day after he arrived, he disappeared. Diving into the shadowy underworld of the afterlife before she and her officers were able to stop him, losing him forever.

But Officer Francés had seen the files, knew  _exactly_  what had happened to Victoria, and knew that the poor girl was completely unhinged. Exactly the kind of unhinged that could turn under pressure like this.

But that still left an important question unanswered.

“We’ll find her, I’ll have her details radioed in to the station and my officers will canvas the area. And we’ll have Rodrigo taken into custody for suspected assisted kidnapping, he’ll receive the very best medical care.” Officer Francés said, nodding to her second in command, who turned away to begin relaying her commands into his radio. “But there’s something else. Our informant said that while Enrique was on the run Miguel told him more about the night he died. Miguel said that you killed him Señor Rivera.”

They both froze. Absolutely rigid. Señora Rivera’s grip looked like it was going to snap her husband’s arm.   

“It finally happened.” Señor Rivera said, his voice cracking as he covered his eyes with the back of his hand.

“We knew we couldn’t pretend forever Héctor.” Señora Rivera said, looking at him grimly.

“Do you deny the boy’s claims?” Officer Francés asked slowly, ready to drop her notebook and tackle them at the slightest sign of them attempting to flee.

“Officer...the reason we keep Miguel so close is because he’s delusional.” Señora Rivera said, looking like every word was a confession that pained her to her core. “He stays with Héctor because he’s more stable that way, but when they’re apart his...mental state becomes far worse. He suffers from panic episodes and paranoia. He thinks people are trying to kill him again, sometimes it’s a family member or even a stranger, but the longer he goes without our care the worse it gets.”

“It’s why we wanted to get him back as quickly as possible.” Señor Rivera said hoarsely, “Enrique doesn’t know how bad he really is, I’m not surprised that the stress of being forcefully taken from us and then being on the run pulled something like this out of him.”

“He’s back with us now, we can take you to see him yourselves if you like.” Imelda said, rubbing the ridge above her eye with her thumb, “He’s still recovering. We have the proper documentation of his condition from certified doctors that we can present if needed. Victoria too. We love him, and Victoria, but...I’m afraid that nothing they say or claim or accuse can be taken seriously, they’re both mentally unstable, it’s all paranoid rambling from both of them. We’ve been trying to keep their conditions quiet for their sake, but everything’s spun out of control.”

“So can you help us?” Señor Rivera asked, his chin high, as if daring her to mock their vulnerable position, their family secrets they’d shared with her, “We need to contain our granddaughter before she hurts anyone else.”

“You should have called us earlier Señor.” Officer Francés, finally stowing away her notebook. “But we’re here to help. Do you have any idea where Victoria is likely to have gone?”

There would be more questions to ask later, and she was going to ask to see those doctor’s documents later, but for now she’d found enough to work on. Sebastian’s story finally made sense and the true suspects identified.

“She said that she left Enrique in a cenote somewhere behind our property.” Señor Rivera said, taking his wife’s hand. “That’s the last thing she mentioned before she stormed off. Is there any other information you need, Officer?”

Sebastian himself would need to be taken in for questioning, but it was likely that he was operating under confused facts from Rodrigo. It was a complex mess, but with Señor y Señora Rivera leveling with her, everything was coming into focus. The unstable members of the family were being triggered by the well-intentioned outcasts, and the matriarch and patriarch had failed to contain the situation before it spun out of control. Regrettable but understandable.

“Are you still the only one Victoria allows near her?” Officer Francés asked.

“Si.”

“Then please come with us, lead the way to the cenote. My squad will take her and Enrique into custody and then we can bring everyone in for questioning to straighten this all out. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Of course, we just want our family safe.” Señor Rivera said, he motioned to their left, “we can go this way, if we hurry we can reach the cenotes in about twenty minutes on foot.”

“Let’s move.” Officer Francés said.

She turned to wave her team forward as they followed the Riveras around to the back of their property, pulling her own radio to her face to bark orders to the rest of the officers in the area, sending someone to attend to Rodrigo, someone to collect Miguel, and someone else to escort Sebastian back to the police station. With any luck they would be able to quickly locate and take the suspects, Victoria  _and_  Enrique, into custody.

It was a shame that Victoria had finally gone off the deep end, but on the other hand it was perhaps only truly surprising that it had taken this long. Even with a loving family to support and care for her, there was apparently only so much trauma a young woman could take.

Officer Francés pulled her cap lower as she followed the Riveras across the stony ground.

This family had already suffered too much tonight. It was time to end this.

***

Miguel wanted to go home.

He and Tío Ruy stood at the edge of the empty cenote, looking down at the turquoise pool of water below. It was the third one they’d found, with no sign of Papá.

“Let’s take a break kid, I...I gotta sit down, alright?” Tio Ruy said, his voice tight enough with pain to crack slightly.

Miguel nodded numbly as Caprice lowered herself to the ground, helping Tío Ruy down slowly and giving him something soft to lean against in a landscape of massive boulders and rock.

It had started out alright, they’d all gotten out of the mansion safely to go get his Papá, but soon Miguel had realized that Tío Ruy was  _very_  hurt and only faking being able to walk.

“Maybe...” Miguel crouched down next to Caprice, leaning against her as he looked over the steep cliffs near them to the water far, far below. “Maybe we should go back...”

Tío Ruy said nothing, closing his eyes with a grimace as the three of them all sat in silence.

Miguel shivered, curling up tightly against the alebrije as his thoughts got too loud.

If Papá Héctor was here he would know what to do. He would be able to help Tío Ruy get a doctor, to help him not feel scared, he would even be able to help stop Tia Victoria. Helping Tio Ruy get out had seemed like a good idea, but now he wasn’t sure. Looking for his Papá had seemed like a good idea.

But not anymore.

Now he just wanted to go home. Trying to leave never worked anyway. He knew that for sure now.

“I’m proud of you, you know that kid?”

Miguel looked up at Tio Ruy, his eyes were still closed and his teeth gritted in pain.

“I mean it, Miguel.” Tio Ruy said, pulling on a stiff smile and ruffling his good hand through Miguel’s hair. “I’m gonna be straight with you. I...don’t know what’s going to happen...if, if we’re going to make it. But I just want you to know that I’m really proud that you’re pushing back. I know all this is stupidly hard for you and you’re doing it anyway. Just...never stop fighting, okay kid? You’ve got some real moxie.”

Miguel stared at him for a long moment, he still felt scared, but also now wishing he could hug Tio Ruy without hurting him more.

“Gracias.” he said quietly.

“How endearingly heart-felt.”

Miguel jolted at the hiss of a familiar voice, jumping up and turning to see Tia Victoria walk out from behind a boulder behind them.

“You  _bestia_ , get  _back_.” Tio Ruy spat, forcing himself to his feet, pulling Miguel behind him as Caprice leapt up, already screeching.

“Careful Ruy, keep your horse back or Enrique goes over the edge.” Tia Victoria said, her voice nearly sing-song.

Miguel whimpered as Tia Victoria drug his father out after her. Papá looked terrible, his arms bound to his sides, his eyes barely open. Caprice pawed angrily at the ground and screamed at Tia Victoria, but stayed where she was.

“And look at that, you’ve kidnapped Miguel. Again.” Tia Victoria said, a kind of manic cheerfulness in her wide smile that made Miguel want to curl up and hide, “They didn’t listen, but I was right, I was  _right_! And now I can get  _both_  of you.”

“Stay back, she’s insane.” Papá gasped, “Ruy, take Miguel and go to the police, just go, please.”

“Papá!” Miguel cried, actually taking a step forward before all his joints locked up, paralyzing him in place with fear.

“Let him go.” Tio Ruy seethed, his good arm slung around Caprice’s neck.

“I’d like to see you make me.” Victoria grinned.

“Victoria!”

Papá Héctor’s voice shot through the air like a crack of thunder. Everyone turned to see him enter the clearing, flanked by, Mamá Imelda and an entire squad of police behind him.

“Victoria, you let him go  _right now_.” Papá Héctor commanded, powerfully striding forward, his long legs quickly closing the distance between them, several officers rushing up behind him. “First you harm Rodrigo, and then you take him and Miguel from us? What are you thinking Victoria?”

“Don’t come near me! All of you get back!” Tia Victoria shrieked, backing up several steps, taking her and Papá right to the rocky cliff edge, leaving only a few inches of stone between them and the long long fall to the jagged rocks below.

“All of you, stay where you are.” Papá Héctor barked at the police.

Miguel saw the officer with the fanciest uniform call orders for them to halt, but Papá Héctor kept walking towards them.

“You’re not going to lock me up!” Tia Victoria yelled, “I heard you talking, you’re going to kill me just like everyone else! Don’t come any closer!”

Miguel watched as Papá Héctor stopped, he was standing right beside him and Tio Ruy now, his hands held out cautiously towards Victoria.

“Victoria, mija, listen to yourself, you’re not well, you’re hallucinating again.” Papá Héctor said. He glanced down at Miguel and Ruy, the concern on his face only increasing, “Mijos, has she hurt you two? Are you alright?”

No. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, everything was getting confusing.

Miguel knew he was supposed to be against Papá Héctor, but now he couldn’t remember why. Everything was so horrible and bad and he’d only made it worse, and now Papá Héctor was here to make things better and all Miguel wanted was for everything to be over.

Miguel took a step closer and hugged Papá Héctor as tightly as he could, burying his face against his ribcage, trying desperately to block everything out. There was too much of everything, too much sound, too much light, too much pain.

“Don’t. Don’t call me your son.” Tio Ruy’s voice said weakly, Miguel look over to see him leaning heavily against Caprice.

“Rodrigo you’re not well,” Papá Héctor said, keeping his eyes trained on Tia Victoria, “I’m sorry all of this has happened, but we can sort this out later. We’re taking you and Miguel and Enrique home where we can straighten this all out. And you too Victoria,” he said, raising his voice again. “We’re all going home, alright? We’re all going to go home and talk things over. Mamá Imelda and I want everyone to be safe, we’re here to help you.”

“Ruy. Get. Miguel. Away.” Papá said through gritted teeth, jolting as Tia Victoria swayed him back another step, towards the drop behind him.

“No more talking, kidnapper.” Tia Victoria hissed, putting a hand over his mouth.

“No one is going anywhere.” Papá Héctor said, putting an arm around Miguel protectively.

It made Miguel feel sick, but it was easier to cling tighter and hope the feeling went away, rather than try to think about why.

If only everything would just go away.

If only it would all just disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go...
> 
> Thanks as always to @slusheeduck, the co-creator of this au


	17. The End

“Ruy. Get. Miguel. Away.” Enrique said through gritted teeth looking like he was one the brink of passing out, but jolting as Victoria swayed him back another step, towards the drop behind them both.

“No more talking, kidnapper.” Victoria hissed, putting a hand over his mouth.

“No one is going anywhere.” Héctor said sternly, putting an arm around Miguel protectively.

The boy was clinging to him, clearly terrified at the overwhelming disaster spiraling around them. Héctor had to fix this, he had to fix all of this. He had to keep everyone safe.

“Victoria, if you go over that cliff it’s going to be very very bad.” Héctor said, speaking loudly and clearly, trying to keep from making any sudden movements.

He hadn’t seen Victoria this keyed up since the day she’d first arrived in the Land of the Dead, broken and raving and lashing out at anyone who got too close. Anyone besides him.

“You are going to be very very hurt if you fall that far,” Héctor said, “we may not be able to put you back together Victoria, do you understand that? I want you to be safe, I want you to come home.”

“You’re going to lock me up.” she hissed, dropping her voice so the police officers behind him wouldn’t be able to hear, “You’re going to let them take me away to some mad house and I’m going to tell them everything, I’m going to tell them about all the people you killed, about the people  _we_  killed. I’m going to take you down with me you-”

“What do you want Victoria? Tell me what you need, I want to  _help_  you.” Héctor said, repressing the shiver running through him at her threat, even if it was a fangless one. He and Imelda had obtained doctored medical papers for both Miguel and Victoria without them knowing it just in case something like this happened someday.

Of course they’d never imagined it being quite this bad of course, but having a way to gag their grandchildren had been a must with how much they both knew. The gags would still work, they had to work. But if Victoria went over the edge with Enrique and damaged them both beyond repair, then Miguel, and the family name, would never recover.

“I’m not going to be locked up.” Victoria said, tightening her grip on Enrique, who looked more like death than any dead man Héctor had ever seen. “I’m not going to let them take me, I’m going to jump before you let them take me.”

“We’re not going to lock you up.” Héctor said, keeping steady eye contact with her as he loosened his tie to hang limply around his neck.

“But you said-”

“Victoria, I swear I’m not going to let them touch you.” Héctor said, keeping his voice down, gently detaching Miguel from him and taking another step forward. “You matter more to me than life Victoria, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Now tell me, what do you need?”

“I, I want you to punish the kidnapper.” Victoria said, still wild-eyed as Héctor carefully took another step forward. Then another step. “You can’t just put him in jail, it needs to be real, he has to  _feel_  it.”

“Alright.” Héctor said, “You want to push him over the cliff?”

“I…” Victoria looked over his shoulder. Back at the police and Imelda, “No. You have to do it. You have to show them you agree with  _me_.”

He’d caught her off-guard and now she wasn’t sure what to think about him. In this state it was easy to see that she was living by the rules of her own invented reality, and now suddenly he was playing by her rules again. Miguel might never recover if Enrique went over the edge, but Héctor would never forgive himself if he lost his favorite granddaughter. In this moment, Victoria took priority.

“Victoria, mija,” Héctor said quietly, too quietly now for even Miguel or Rodrigo to hear, only a few steps away from Victoria, “If I go to jail then how can I protect you? All these police can’t see me push the kidnapper over the edge like that, think smarter mija.”

“Make it look like an accident.” Victoria said, her eyes bright as she rose to his challenge, seeing that he was on her side, “Then  _I’ll_  know you mean it. Everything can be right again.”

“Si, everything will be right.” Héctor said, taking the final step towards her and grabbing Enrique.

Enrique cried out in terror as Héctor heaved him as hard as he could.

Away from the cliff edge, sending Enrique skidding across safe ground, toward the others and away from danger.

Héctor turned back as Victoria’s eyes widened. She turned and jumped, right as Héctor grabbed her around her ribcage, leaping back, pulling them both away from the cliff.

Victoria screamed and hit as he held her tightly, rolling on top of her and pinning her to the ground.

“Lo siento mija, I’m so sorry.” Héctor said quietly, yanking off his loose necktie. He worked quickly to wrap it around her mouth, gagging her shrieks before pulling her up into a tight embrace from behind to pinned her arms

Victoria jerked and struggled as the police officers all rushed forward, tears rolling down her face.

“I have to keep you safe Victoria, this is the only way I can can keep you all safe.” Héctor told her quietly, “I love you, but you forced my hand. Don’t go screaming about what we’ve done or it will be worse for you, Mamá Imelda has papers that will make them think you’re crazy. Keep quiet and I’ll come for you as soon as I can. Promise me you’ll be quiet, mija.”

She tried to rock her head back to slam her skull against his, but he dodged it, pinning her tighter as her shrieks turned into muffled anguished sobs. A crying scream that continued as officers pried her from Héctor’s grip. Her hair had come undone, the uneven curls framing her tear-streaked face as she struggled helplessly against the gag.

“The primary suspect is in custody.” one of the officers barked into a walkie-talkie, two others quickly binding Victoria.

“Don’t hurt her.” Héctor said, shaking slightly as he stood, “She’s my granddaughter, por favor.”

“We’ll be as gentle as we can Señor.” the officer said, putting a hand on his shoulder as the others tried to force Victoria to stand,  “We’re sorry you had to experience something this traumatic. We couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“He’s lying!” a hoarse voice said.

They turned to see two other officers helping Enrique to his feet, deftly swapping Victoria’s haphazard bindings for official police ones.

“He’s lying about everything,” Enrique said, his voice weak and his sentence broken by coughs, “he killed my son, he’s lying to you all!”

“Señor, you’re under arrested for suspected kidnapping.” said Officer Francés, the police chief stepping up to face Enrique, “You have the right to remain silent, you will be assigned an attorney to represent you in court. We’ll be taking you into the station for full questioning, but you should know that your son is mentally unstable, that he experiences episodes of paranoia.”

“You monster.” Enrique started, looking right at Héctor, “You lying…murdering…” his voice trailed off as he lost consciousness, sinking back against one of the officers helping to hold him up.

Héctor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Enrique would likely be unconscious for at least a day after this much excitement so freshly dead, giving Imelda and him time to get the police firmly on their side concerning Miguel’s fake illness. If push came to shove they might even be able to get  _Enrique_ labeled as mentally unstable if he didn’t let it drop.

Héctor made himself look to see Victoria being dragged away. His heart ached to see her glaring back at him through her tears, but Imelda would never forgive him if he tried to free her now.

Héctor turned away, absently tugging at his rumpled collar. He hadn’t  _really_ betrayed Victoria. She would think so for a long time, but eventually she would understand she’d given him no choice. Once Imelda cooled off he could even start pulling strings to get Victoria out again so he could have her back.

Everything would be alright.

He looked over to where Miguel was standing stock still, watching his old father being carried away unconscious by the police as other officers moved to restrain Rodrigo’s alebrije. A medic knelt beside Rodrigo to get a closer look at his ribs.

“Hey, hey, Miguel.” Héctor said, pulling him into a hug, turning Miguel’s head to look away from the damage Enrique had done, “Let’s get you home alright? This has been for too much excitement for everyone, everything’s alright now. Everyone’s safe.”

***

Miguel had experienced all kinds of fear.

There was the kind of fear that froze him up, that made his mind empty and his bones lock up. There was the kind of fear that was all hot and messy inside his head when his thoughts got too loud that made him cry and want to curl up into a hug. There was the kind of fear that ate away the happiness inside of him over years and years, making him feel on guard and worn out, willing to let someone else make the decisions for him.

What he was feeling right now was none of those things.

What he was feeling wasn’t fear.

It was anger.

He was still clinging to Papá Héctor’s jacket, his face now turned away from watching his Papá be drug away by police, but he wasn’t feeling the calm safety that he’d always been able to feel before. Papá Héctor had always protected him, had always made sure nothing would hurt him, had always been the one to tell him that everything was okay.

But it was a  _lie._

Miguel’s skeletal fingers dug tightly into the fabric of Papá Héctor’s jacket as the hot feeling inside of him continued to build, eating away at the cold walls he’d built so carefully over the years.

Because that really was the truth wasn’t it? Papá Héctor had said that Tio Ruy was terrible, but he’d been so nice and tried so hard to help him get away. Papá Héctor had said that Miguel would be in danger if he ever left the house, but all the bad things that happened to Miguel were only because he was trying to stop him. Papá Héctor had said that Miguel needed to die because it would protect his family, that it was his fault for finding out family secrets.

_But it wasn’t_.

“This…is…your…fault.” Miguel said, looking up at Pa-

Looking up at Héctor.

“This is your fault.” Miguel said louder, letting go of Héctor’s jacket and stepping back from him as the hot feeling ate up his bones, “This is  _your_  fault!”

“Miguel, you’re tired, we need to get you home.” Héctor said, looking taken aback as he tried to take Miguel’s hand.

But Miguel yanked his hand away.

“No!” he yelled, the volume feeling raw in his throat, “Don’t touch me! You’re not my papá! This is all your fault!”

Héctor looked like he’d been slapped, blinking in shock as he took a step back.

“Miguel, this isn’t the time, you’re tired and under stress.” Héctor said sternly, the warmth draining away as he made another grab for him.

Miguel jumped away, using the nearest police officer as a shield as Héctor advanced.

“You killed me!” Miguel screamed, glaring Héctor right in the eye, the heat inside of him pushing the words out in a nearly incoherent rush, “You killed me you killed De la Cruz you killed Tia Victoria’s murderer and you’re ruining  _everything_.”

“He’s uh, he’s having one of his episodes,” Héctor said, half smiling apologetically at the police officer as he ducked around her and grabbed Miguel. But now Miguel could see fear in his eyes. “Lo siento Officer Francés, I’ll take him home immediately.”

“Liar!” Miguel shrieked, lashing out, hitting Héctor as hard as he could with his fists to try and break his grip, “You locked the door until I died! Don’t-he’s lying!”

Héctor’s grip locked onto his arms as he kicked and screamed, running out of words but fighting as hard as he could. He was  _not_ going back, he didn’t want to be numb and scared and cold again, he wanted his real papá back, he wanted Tio Rodrigo and Caprice and his Mamá. Not Héctor.

But Héctor’s grip was tighter than Miguel had ever felt. At least not since the day he’d been murdered.

***

“Miguel, stop this.” Señor Rivera said harshly, wrestling with his grandson as the boy tried almost manically to break his grip, flailing hard enough to dislocate his own arm, forcing Señor Rivera to grab him around the ribcage.

Officer Francés watched with alert wariness as several alarms tripped in her head at the same time.

“What was that about Victoria’s murderer?” she asked, her old case files flipping back open in her mind’s eye.

“He’s raving, nothing he says is true.” Señor Rivera said sharply, “I already told you.”

“Cement!” Miguel cried, tears running down his face as he continued to struggle uselessly, “The day after he died, cement, Tia Victoria told me that-”

Señor Rivera’s hand clamped over Miguel’s mouth, “We’re going home now.” he said, hoisting the struggling boy up under his arm, “Officer, if you’ll excuse us, my grandson is very ill.”

The alarms in Officer Francés’ head got much louder. There was no way that Miguel would know the exact timeframe of the suspect’s disappearance. It was a small detail, but a too-accurate one for a raving sick person to randomly land on. And De la Cruz, that was the name of the man who’d disappeared the night Miguel died, a known enemy of the family.

“I can help with any paperwork that may need to be filled out?” Señora Rivera said, appearing to step between them, “My husband needs to get Miguel home so they can both rest.”

“Actually,” Officer Francés said, firmly sidestepping to block Señor Rivera’s retreat, “I’d like to ask Miguel a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“Miguel is mentally unsound, a minor under our care, and will not be taking your questions.” Señora Rivera said, her icy glare doing nothing to dissuade the sick feeling twisting in Officer Francés’s non-existent stomach. There was none of the pitifulness she’d had when they’d met earlier, only a steely resolve dripping with warning.

And it suddenly seemed  _awfully_  convenient that the Riveras had what was essentially a gag order on the two people who had tried to slander them tonight.

“He said something about a ‘De la Cruz,’ who’s that?” Officer Francés asked, a false friendliness in her voice.

“He’s the man that caused Miguel’s death by delaying him being sent home.” Señora Rivera said icily.

“In that case, why would Miguel be trying to defend him I wonder?” Officer Francés said, matching the hard edge in her voice as Señor y Señora Rivera’s body language continued to drip with fear and panic.

She looked at Miguel, who was still trying his best to break free, watching her with pleading eyes, still trying to yell through the hand Señor Rivera’s had clamped over his mouth.

The ready made gag orders. Victoria’s swift mental decline. The murderer’s disappearance. The newly dead father’s desperate rescue attempt, the ostracized son’s intervention, Sebastian’s wild claims, the Rivera’s cagy defensiveness, and a dozen other things little things about this whole situation that just didn’t feel quite right when pulled together into one big pile that reeked of something truly disgusting.

Officer Francés drew her handgun, which was incapable of killing, but plenty capable of shattering bone beyond repair. She took a step back and coolly leveled it at Señora Rivera as both the Riveras scrambled back in wide-eyed shock.

“Release Miguel immediately,” Officer Francés commanded, “Héctor and Imelda Rivera, you are under arrest for suspected murder, suspected destruction of person, suspected forgery of medical documents, and lying to the police.”

“How dare you.” Señora Rivera hissed, her facade slipping to reveal something venomous and angry.

“Get away from her!” Señor Rivera snarled, dropping Miguel and lunging forward.

All the officers in the clearing ducked at the sound of the gunshot, then rushed forward, shouting as they tackled both the Riveras to the ground.

Five officers struggled to pin down Héctor Rivera, who was snarling and struggling like a wild animal to get as the officers tying up his wife. Apparently too far gone in rage to pay attention to the splintered half of his right hand that now missing, splintered away by the gunshot, fragments of bone scattered across the ground.

“And,” Officer Francés panted, getting to her feet and holstering her gun, keeping back as her officers pinned him to the ground, “resisting arrest, and attacking an officer.”

She turned to see Miguel crouched close to the ground, shaking slightly as he watched his grandfather’s arrest with wide eyes. 

“Come on Miguel,” Officer Francés, gently helping the boy to his feet. She took his hand and led him away from the nightmare he’d been trapped in for the last twenty years, “Let’s get you back to your real papá.” 

 

 

 

 

**Epilogue:**

Enrique and Miguel live at Ruy’s, living in the loft above his. Ruy is helping Miguel play the guitar again and Iria is there as well, helping take care of everyone that’s recovering with food she’s brought from her side. It’s been a month and everyone is receiving lots of therapy, Miguel has a lot of bad habits and quirks still, but for the most part he’s happy.

Ruy went to stay with Iria for a few weeks and came back unrecognizable. Still tired, but absolutely devoted to Iria, who Enrique approves of wholeheartedly. The apartment is clean, no alcohol to be found, and Seba is over a lot too. Enrique still misses Luisa terribly, but he and Miguel have been staying a lot with her side of the family, which has been lovely.  

The Rivera family is a complicated mess. The press has been swarming and an uncomfortable number of victims coming forward with suspicious stories about their own deaths after getting caught up in Rivera related issues in life. A lawyer, reporters, a particularly vocal man from the projects with a particularly gruesome claim that involved Héctor, a break in, and an ax.

The family has polarized, a few like Mamá Coco quietly siding with Imelda, who has been left with an empty manor, others like Héctor Junior staunchly siding against Héctor and Imelda and doing their best to pick up the pieces and rebuild the family and the brand without them.

Héctor’s trial was a dismal one, involving a long line of witnesses bringing forward a hurricane of fragmented evidence. It’s enough to condemn both of their reputations permanently, but since the court system only deals with crimes on this side of the veil, charges only stuck to Héctor, leaving Imelda alone when he is put in prison. Even after she broke down screaming in the courtroom, pushing her way to Héctor, who quietly told her to calm down, that he wasn’t going to have her go to prison as well.

Héctor’s sentence is a century in prison, no chance of bail. Victoria has been locked up for good and finally receiving the professional treatment that she should have received years ago.

There’s still a huge amount of family money and everyone still receives a stipend, allowing them to live in comfort for the foreseeable future. Enrique doesn’t know exactly what that future will be, he never realized you had to plan beyond death, but he finally at least has the opportunity to think about it now that things have calmed down. He’s still not sure if he’s going to try reconnecting with his side of the family, there’s too much drama there for now, and he’s really sure he’s never going to talk to Imelda or Héctor for at least a century, but between Luisa’s side and this peculiar gathered family here at Ruy’s he’s sure he’ll be fine. Ruy and Miguel both need a dad and he needs some rest.

It’ll be a mess to explain when Luisa finally arrives someday, but for now he’s looking forward to finally getting some well-earned rest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for this crazy ride that has been villain au! This is the end of the main storyline and it’s been such a blast. There’s going to be one more Ruia chapter posted in the next few days, but other than that things are pretty much wrapped up!
> 
> I would love to hear what you all think, and as always my inbox is open for any questions you have. I’ll also be taking “in character” questions for the cast of villain au, meaning you can ask any question of any of the characters and they’ll respond!
> 
> Thanks so much for coming along with this ride, it’s been a blast. And thanks again to @slusheeduck who is my fantastic behind the scenes co-creator for this au.
> 
> And now to get back to teacher au. :)
> 
> \- Wit


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